the color of the sunset

she asked,”what color is the sunset, daddy?'”
it's a fusion of orange and purple and black and blue.
it's the color of my heart as we speak
the breath hanging in the air
like a question unanswered.

what color is the sunset, daddy?

to be exact, i'm not sure of much of anything these days. but of this, i am confident: this snowbank is our couch. and i'd rather sit here with you. right now. this moment. than to do anything else in the world.

it's the color of tears; salty
down my face an ocean on the carpet where i am fully present fully somewhere else. i am tired of repression. suppression. depression. and the self-hatred.
i am numb to the words of affirmation that used to fuel me like a drug.

it's the color of dry heaving and the ejaculation of hopelessness into porcelain toilets and a locked bathroom door. it's the color of prescription medication. anti-everything. it's the color of trust in circles of tears and prayers and battle cries for deliverance. it's the color of a God who is counting down the hours until my groaning will be no more.

she asked, "what color is the sunset, daddy?"

it's the color of melting snow in a blistered fever. it's the color of doubt and wonder and phone calls avoided and endless pacing around the living room and wilting and starving love sick hope starved sleepless. three days without food or water.

it's the color of whisper and gossip and a blood stained napkin. it's the color of distance and transcendence like a runaway labrador retriever who will not respond to my calling. it's the color of a leaking roof as sibbald points out the inevitable future and i can't help but see my own reflection in the mirror of each splash. it's the color of rocks thrown from unexpected people in unexpected ways. it's the color of the breath that leaves my lungs at the last email received.

It’s the color of tree swings from here to there and back again and underdog pushes as ashlyn rolls around in the leaves and ambria is confused why mariah is erupting in the gravity of this sunset conversation.

It’s the color of love that does not win, and broken promises and purple eye shadows falling on purple scarves falling on compliments falling on deaf ears and eyes turned away. it's the color of blame and manipulation and control and false motives.

what color is the sunset, daddy?

It’s the color of birthday parties and suicidal thoughts and unwritten letters to explain the absence of hope and wonder and it’s the color of the confession that i am a sinner and a liar and a murderer and an adulterer and a thief and i manipulate and control people for my own selfish desires and i do not deserve grace so i plead for mercy and hope for a gospel that is scandalous enough to be true for my own redemption story but in the end, all hope is lost and i am giving up.

what color is the sunset, daddy?

It’s the color of michigan in february, and the ever-present absence of recapitulation. it’s the color of an unbroken circle and repeated patterns of yes and no and never again and yes and no and never again. it’s the color of one day at a time and the recognition that tomorrow never comes.