Family

Tar on the pavement, hot and gooey, under the yellow sun.

Sunflowers sway in a warm breeze, yellow leaves, so fragile.

A traffic sign, hanging on a bent square poll, a yellow warning.

Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.

She was born, so small, scratch mittens, boots, tiny and pink.

Her first room, a lady bug, a castle, the walls covered in pink.

That first father, daughter, dance. Mom braided her hair, with pink ribbons.

I didn’t let her see me cry when she looked so lovely, in that pink prom dress.

My cell phone, wrapped in a black rubber case, rang on a snowy night.

My daughter, was back in town, her black purse, had been empty for months.

Her boyfriend, left her, with much, mush more than a blackened tattoo.

I told her I loved her, as I wrote, “She’s back!” and showing my wife the black letters.

The snow was thick on the road, the night air was painful, as blue and red lights danced.

“Two occupants both dead”, the officer in blue told me, and wrote a few words in red.

My daughter picked up a hitchhiker, dressed in blue, his hidden fingers, were red.

Deep in the ditch, beside the road, a mangled yellow car.

Blue eyes cry, into a bloodshot red.

Watch your step, as your bare feet attempt to navigate the chocolate milk stained carpet. Some post apocalyptic toy war has left many casualties on the living room floor. A cat licks spilled milk off of the kids table, while another bats off bills and loose papers from the kitchen island. There are thousands of invisible sandbags strapped to a mothers shoulders every moment of every day.

The girls hair is wild, full of knots, and all of the precious minutes to get ready for school have been eaten by the clock that hangs slightly crooked on the wall. A little boy who has only existed for 2 years, decides of take off his diaper. He now spreads sludge over everything he touches, like a crashing meteor fouling anything beautiful in its path. The dog jumps in to help clean up the situation. Somehow, someway, mothers find a way to fight back the tide, to win the battle of moments.

Laundry, dishes, bills, cleaning, phone calls, appointments, broken cars, all attack mothers, who have sacrificed so much for kids, and hubby. Amidst the weary domestic war of life, in the aftermath of family, the scene somehow holds an appealing aesthetic value.

Zachary W Gilbert, Author

Encouragement Perhaps

Color Wheel of Life

Mother’s Aesthetic