A Son’s Grief

By: Lance Kayser

It feels like

Taupe.

That’s what I tell

him.

Eyes glide across my

skin

in search of cracks,

fissures of my

fragmented mind.

Why Taupe?

he wants to know.

His calloused hands

catching a thread

untethered

as he grips my shoulder.

His only language

for empathy.

Cuz death

doesn’t feel like

Black.

It’s Taupe,

the color of

numbness.

Crinkling forehead

like paper being

crushed

after a mistake.

His fatherly expression

I expected

But his response

--a surprise.

I feel like

Raw Umber

ground up

staining clay.

My eyes

lower their shades

to half mast

in confusion.

He takes a long, slow breath,

time to form words,

those pesky gremlins

he could never master.

I feel helpless

because I could not protect you

from death.

I soak in his

good intentions.

The corners of my lips

arching upward

stretching toward

a new feeling.

I think it’s

Lavender.

The numbness

a seed

a sapling

a flower bud

a step toward

healing.

---

Lance Kayser spends his days helping students become better writers. As an English Professor, he teaches composition, literature, and creative writing. Lance has published his poem “Confession of an Only Son” in the anthology Beyond Queer Words (Feb 2023). When he is not teaching or writing, he is enjoying the California sun with his husband and dog.