my friend’s funeral was a cloudy day.
a joyous celebration of life.
the clouds spoiled the ambiance,
but the rain never came.
my lover left me in that cloudy haze.
i stood alone and grey.
with pain as my sole companion,
i mourned two losses that day.
they say all things heal with time,
but the rain had been pouring for months.
i couldn’t remember bright warmth.
blue skies haunted my dreams.
monsoons blew negativity
across my mind’s eye
submerging my mentality
in dreary floodwaters.
tears soaked the paper
like a texas thunderstorm does the land.
lightning struck and thunder rumbled
shaking me to my core.
my trembling hand dragged the pen
leaving ink chicken scratch trails,
paving the unbeaten path of
an indiscernible expulsion of thought.
the downpour raged on red,
painting the sky in various shades
of the plum, olive, and lemon.
i saw the Kahlo in the storm.
i stood with my head tilted heavenward,
my hand furiously scribbled,
and my feet submerged in the mud
to document the clouds making beauty.
the scribbles captured the gloom.
and the rain began to lessen.
the more I wrote,
the bluer the sky became.
now, when a storm rolls in
the paper is safe from the teardrops.
i no longer dread the clouds.
i learned to love the black and blue.