You wore your grey fate
perfectly—laughter,
golden touch. It was a show,
of course. Even as tiny
hope waved over private
blue melancolia,
it stirred up a sludge,
lingering at bottom’s black.
You and I knew it.
We ached in private.
Mine, a pinwheel of gloom,
yours, somehow, a rainbow
of beautiful grief.
Jason Brightwell lives in a tiny resort town tucked away on the shore of Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay where he finds himself routinely haunted by one thing or another. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals including: Gravel Magazine, Phantom Kangaroo, and The Tower Journal, among others.
