A poem revisited: Color of Love

I used to think when I was little that love was red. Like the blood that flows through my veins, full of life and nourishment, the sustaining fluid for my soul.

When I was in high school, I thought that love was pink, like the sunsets before stormy nights, beautiful at first sight, but indicators of the turmoil to come.

Freshmen year, I thought love was black, like the asphalt of Massachusetts Avenue, put there with hard labor that was never hard enough, cause it always needed to be ripped away and replaced.

But now I know that love is brown, like your skin when the sunrise hits it in the morning, deep and warm, Or like my mother's eyes full of wisdom and understanding, or like the roof of the house I grew up in, familiar and safe, or like the ground that connects us all, no matter where we stand. A love that forgives and never forgets, a love that tries when hope is lost, love that saves us from ourselves, a love that makes life worth living...

written 7.15.2008