If I could have chosen the you you would become,
the way I choose a perfect avocado, or a just-ripe cantaloupe
from the produce aisle at Patsy’s Seaside Pantry,
I’d paint your eyes “Elderberry Blue,”
the color on the walls of a long-abandoned beach house
where summers ago
your childish laughter flew unbound
on sun filled breezes
until suddenly one summer
your laughter bent,
then shattered,
and your blue eyes grayed,
like ashes,
from the fires in your brain.