At the end, my mother-in-law was afraid of blue.
The blue sky that summer engulfed us into its universe,
the quilt with multiple shades of blue. Sapphire, cobalt,
aquamarine. Sometimes, before warmth swarms over me,
I become a blue bottle fly. Calliphora vomitoria, they call me.
A Cerulean scarf wraps around my neck, matching my sadness,
her death a milestone of blues. My husband reminds me of her.
Rhythm and blues play quietly in my head as I sort through
the family’s photos, starting to fade, as all memories do after awhile,
her wrinkles becoming shallower. Quickly, give me the color
of midnight, covering the pool of tears. Remember lapis lazuli,
better known as azure? Blaze orange sits at the opposite
end of the color wheel, which is to say, orange defines fire,
not water. It leaps bright as a phoenix, keeping us from
drowning in the blues after each loss.
