When I Weep

by Heidi Slettedahl

I find I skip to years and forget the days, the one by one the alcoholic pledge. All colors swirl to one, a mucky brown on paper. All colors swirl from white and back again, if we but see it. I only see the brown. I argue with the future and forget that days have red and streaks of blue and gentle curving arms that hold me when I weep.