mackerel sky

They say it’s not black and white

but grey
I want that grey instead of white-hot
instead of black as dead earth: my boy's seizures colored both
And I have been looking for a long time
I am searching for grey that is smooth river stone
mackerel sky
Even the pure white of soft wind would do
I hide the black
—inside—
that sometimes spews out swift red swathes
I want the white of ocean foam
sand dollar
my boy’s smile
not the blinding white scorch of relentless electric screams
I am looking for the grey that lingers
soft like a ribbon ... a dream
smoke
My white is thin and brittle
chipped
the black rottenness glistening beneath
stinking, putrid
Give me simple grey—easy on my mind’s eye—
give me mackerel sky

photo by Michael Kolster