by Ann Christine Tabaka

Blue.
She loved blue.

She was a vessel of sorrow, overflowing with pain.
Her life, a splintered crate, empty from the first.

Given away at birth, she never knew true parents.
Third of seven girls, her fate sealed, no one knew why.

More servant than daughter to adoptive family.
Chores were all that she recalled. 

No toys, no pretty things, ever graced her presence.
Despondence was her only lot in life. 

Not a word of kindness, nor fond gesture to behold.
Why take in a child they could not love?

It followed her throughout her life, 
clinging like a web of despair.

Stories that she told; I did not understand.
Hand-me-down vestiges of her life remain in me today.

Sorrow flowing from her eyes, filling a sea of quiet pain.
It flooded over all our lives. We sank in misery.

Blue, she loved blue, forever grasping at its beauty;
trying to extract the gift of its calm.

Blue was her grace; blue was her salvation. 
Burying her in blue, was the last thing I could do. 

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020,” published by Sweetycat Press. Chris has been internationally published. Her work has been translated into Sequoyah-Cherokee Syllabics, into French, and into Spanish. She is the author of 13 poetry books. She has been published micro-fiction anthologies and short story publications. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: The American Writers Review, The Scribe Magazine, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Silver Birch Press, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Foliate Oak Review, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.

Photo by Tamanna Rumee on Unsplash