POEM: Black
I am mourning my mother.I’m wearing black for forty days. I don’t feel like wearing color even after the funeral is over, And I have said my last goodbye. I keep wearing black. Every morning, I open my walk-in closet and select my next black dress to wear at work. Then the next black blouse. Then the next black shirt. Then the next black skirt. Then the next pair of black pants. Until I have exhausted all my black outfits. Now I understand why they wear black when someone dear to them has departed. It’s not a social convention. It’s not meant to display your pain to the rest of the world. It simply reflects how you feel when you process your loss. Once I’m done with the black section of my wardrobe, I switch to grey. My next grey dress. Then the next grey blouse. Then th