I am a little lost —
lingering listlessly,
a lone green lime
in the laundry basket.
The wind wails wildly,
she’s a widow in black,
ink smudged fingertips
frozen in prayer —
the yellow, tear-soaked letter
folded between her palms.
Hope, a hologram, rises
in bursts of blue, violet,
crimson and chrome —
like a rainbow
during a rainy day.
With scissors, I cut out
sails from it and
start my ship —
a sliver of hope will suffice.