The Shade of Tomorrow

The Shade of Tomorrow

The Shade of Tomorrow

A Poem by Madison Stone

I read to you on that tattered

couch in the living room, now sold.

Water for Elephants put you to sleep often.

I never finished it.

Now replaced with a white leather sofa.

Can you believe that?

A white leather sofa.



Mom told me about the walls too

but I didn’t believe her.

I laughed, actually.

I didn’t believe she’s take that

away from me, from you.

You painted them.


Pick any color

Any color in the world that makes

you feel alive and I’ll make it yours

Now painted over with a scheme of taupe.

It no long compliments the curtains.

It no longer compliments the strain.


I told you to paint the sunrise.

This has nothing to do with happiness

I told you to paint the sunrise.

Don’t you remember?

I picked the shade of tomorrow.


Picture frames exchanged like

thrift store clothing.

I’m drowning.


Your closet filled with his clothes.

Inked spilled on your place at the table,

your chair now spells his name.


Frames filled with someone new.

Not you on your birthday, or us at

June Lake or that damn hat you wore

like tomorrow wouldn’t come.

I’m sorry it didn’t.


I miss you like hell.

I don’t know how to define

this kind of drowning.


I walk through each room and try not

to look at the walls.

The doors are painted shut.

After awhile they cave in like water filling

my lungs at the bottom of a lake.

I’m drowning, I’m drowning.

Do you see me?

I’m drowning.

Don’t worry, I kept your hat.


Left Behind By the Rake

Left Behind By the Rake