Broken Crayons

On the front door,
one sky blue bow
and later carnation pink,
announce the beginning
of brand new life-long relationships.

The mother in her finest
home-making make-up
greets her husband at the door.
He kisses her cheek
while his briefcase hides his lies
in cream-colored files.
His wedding band
is tarnished with hard, cold copper.
He takes it off,
slips it in the corner of his pocket.
His office door revolves
into the deepest hours
while she wipes her sadness
with floral patterned Kleenex.

Midnight never seemed
quite so blue.

A twenty-year-old lunch menu
sticks to the stainless-silver fridge door
reminding her of her children
grown
gone.
The empty spaces where first steps
and first teeth were discovered
seem bigger
emptier.


She sits at home
alone
staring at pictures
of a family she used to know.
All around her
the pieces of her life
lie scattered.
Left behind
like a forgotten box
of broken crayons.