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