If I was an artist,

I’d paint my grief

and use this city

as my canvas.


Shades of blues,

purples, and especially

orange I’d use

to illuminate

Leavenworth Street.


I’d smudge the face

of every brick wall,

splatter my tears

across those large

cafe windows. I’d erase

the smiles from 11th

street if I could.


One-way road signs

and uneven sidewalks

curl in, but something

about orange and yellow

eradicate the nothingness

of this pain.


Tomorrow, the paint will dry

under those blinking

streetlights and my grief

will speak in color

and shimmer in the light.


Claire Furjanic

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