THE GREY (PERSPECTIVE, ACCEPTANCE LOOP)

I told my brother I hate it here.
It’s unrelenting, the grey.
He told me he doesn’t see it.
Through his shaky, pinhole vision
still. 
He sees more. Chooses to.

And I took comfort in that.

All this time I was luxuriating in the grey.
Bathing myself in absent sunlight.
Letting it sink me down, 
lower.
But the numbness never led me anywhere.
Unknowingly, I let it flatten me out.

Slowly, I start to pick up on the range,
tune in.
Most days now I see more.
The frost bites back, but so do I.

Today, with a laugh, he told me he sees the grey.
That we all do.

And I take comfort in that, too.



WINDOW OBSERVER

I’m glad you live across from the highway
Mom says over her shoulder.

It’ll remind you, even when you’re lonely
That there’s still life happening out there.

I wonder if the faceless people flashing by look in at me
And think the same thing.

I leave my blinds open.
To see and be seen.

But only through the window.