Moose Snow

Everyone exists in black and white. You give the people you love color. That’s it. My uncle Juke taught me that back when he was someone to respect. You have to be selective to make it as a man in this world. My sister and my mom, they’re it. I see them in reds and browns much of the time. Colors swirl around them, in the air, in their presence. Nothing, not one thing, shows up clearer to me than those two women. You should see my mother laugh, when she laughs. You should hear Astrid sing, when she sings. They light up the world in a way none of these other blotches of black and white could ever hope to. They’re vibrant. They deserve that.   I’d give them pieces of me if it made them whole again. I’d take pieces of YOU if it made them whole again.   When my mother is sad, sitting around staring out of windows, sinking into the ground, the rage that builds in me could burn us all alive. When my sister gets quiet and starts sucking her lip, trying to disappear, trying not to be noticed, I want to swallow the Earth. Kill everything on it. When