Her world is brown.
Brown bits caked in a bowl, cracked with time.
Faded brown walls, closing in.
Dirty gray-blonde hair, straggling across a flat pillow;
Dark, dried brown blood on dingy sheets,
Mixed with stains, aged and long forgotten.
Muted sounds through too thin walls,
Lines on the ceiling, form familiar patterns…imaginary faces, shapes,
Tell a story when no books can.
Dusty cells cascading downward, landing on her face and hair…
Helpless to stop the endless cycle of life…from dust to dust.
Her world is faded brown, in a wordless bowl,
Where time trudges when it cannot march.
The door opens. He walks through.
The faintest breeze catches the overhead fan, moving the air in a slow and steady beat.
A startled, hesitant beginning.
A blurred view.
Color enters her world in a dizzying whirl of blue, green and white, now moving quickly toward her.
Pale skin, deep, brown eyes, fierce and full of purpose.
…and something else.
They’re all she can see now…
Those brown eyes, urging her up.
Color and Light enter her soul,
…and something else…an unfamiliar feeling…strength.
She takes a full and deep breath of air.
She focuses all her dulled senses into being.
Sounds from that kind face form into words:
“Come on, mom, I’ll help you. We’re leaving now!”
Words of hope and light…brown light.
He is her son, her present savior, come from the savior of her soul.
He is her light.