Thinking About Hydrangeas

photo by mindlovemisery

“He was more of a father to me

than my own lousy father,” said she

I wondered how bad it really must be

for an eight year-old to say those words

 so casually

Then she said, “Light blue

is my favorite color.”

Just another fact

And I pause to react,

“You really miss your grandfather.”

This is, after all, about grief

Speaking it to give some relief

So she speaks

Her words explode,

bullets searching for a target

Granddad let her spend the night

when Mom and Dad would scream and fight

Now she has nowhere to go

to escape the horror show that plays

itself out when Dad starts to drink

And she thinks he learned it

from his own dad

The cursing, that is,

The alcohol, too

And one time, he choked Mom

til she was almost blue

The dog is scared of him

‘cuz he get a little intense

She tries to make it all make sense when

anyone can see it’s just insane

“Are we going swimming if it starts to rain?” she asks me

And we’re off on something else now

and I remember reading about a flower 

whose color depends on the soil pH

What color will she bloom, growing in hate?

Who will nourish her now or

Is it too late

for this flower to flourish?

for this girl of eight? 

submitted for Prompt 13, Photo Inspiration, at mindlovemisery 

and dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night 106

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday