No blank canvas - Lazarus TR Lavandre

Out of the mug’s cracked ceramic lip soft steam billowed through stale air

hissing that this promise just given, that you hope to be kept, is forgotten,

forfeit among their stressful schedules and slipping thoughts. Again. No chicken

coop built, no hike past pine trees, no clean sink – the beard

hair and chunks of soap remain. A journal of every wish come true

turns absently through its blank pages. You try to circle back, underline one part

that came true.  Nothing here. Inside your brain blooms with gray paint circling the

empty future you’re working on. Your whole life you’ve wondered what

color would show up if one word of theirs were kept, just one. But there is

nothing in the gray, not even black. Coward, you’ve your own color – paint a path back.