She painted only boats. No crews or captains,
just vessels — their wakes, just black — its drift.
Hushed horizons holding boats back from the sky.
Not all grandmothers are ancestors. Not all
colors taste of broken light. What about indifference
and certain sunsets? What about ashes scattered
in turpentine? Blank space skips a generation.
I don’t know from art or what I lack. At the funeral
her children fought over last rites and good china.
I said nothing, so got only boats. Staring at her waves
now, I see a woman breathing barely. There is a hue
beyond that hue deepening but never coming back.
Colette Cosner is a Seattle-based poet. Her work can found in Poetry Northwest, Pacifica Literary Review, Cascadia Rising Review, Cathexis Northwest Press, Aurora – The Allegory Ridge Poetry Anthology, Peatsmoke Journal and Atlas + Alice. Twitter: @colette_cosner Instagram: @colettecosner