When I was little I would always
Draw my mother’s hair with a yellow crayon
And my father’s with an orange one.
I would use both to color in my own hair
And we looked like the most colorful family
In poorly scribbled blue pants and ugly brown shoes.

As I got older
My mother’s hair turned less yellow
She started drinking
My father’s hair grew redder with anger
I turned indigo
And I learned to draw us always
With pencil
Sloppily scrawled
And easily
Erasable