my mother was a hero
in our cool airy house

her rollers and silver pans
filled the bedroom walls
with icy blue paint

on her ladder with
a paisley bandana and
the jeans she still wore

my dad drank crystal light
downstairs

lemon flavor, from the
blue Rubbermaid pitcher
on his favorite brown chair

it sat in the living room
then on the beige carpet
next to the stain where I threw up the year before

the chair has a dark spot where
his head lay after
the bike rides he still took then

he zoomed up the winding
paths of the valley in
the Technicolor sunsets

Mom reached up with her blue paint

I walked up and down the stairs

first bedspread that matched the new blue
then the brown chair's ottoman

it was a good Saturday