Color
by Nordette Adams

You're near.
My heart skips like love, like movies
and fables, like never never
makes forever, like words mean a thing,
like "I love you" can heal the tattered spirit,
and so I come to you.
You open me.
The little girl sunken to the bottom of the shell
holding memories and tales called me creeps to
my soul's door at your voice.

You are blue, a secure being,
solid like Big Blue,
vast like the blue sea,
promising as blue skies.
I am blue, blue like a Billie Holiday moan,
like the ocean's darkest cave, like a bruise,
like a dirty joke to which good people close ears.
The little girl sunken to the bottom of the shell
holding memories and tales called me presses her ear to the keyhole.
She needs to hear you.

You are yellow, a bright sun in a child's picture,
cheerfulness, heralding hope
like big guide signs on a lost highway.
I am yellow, yellow like the coward's belly,
like jungle fever, like a jaundiced baby,
life complicated by its mother's blood.
The little girl sunken to the bottom of the shell
holding memories and tales called me sticks the tip of her
big toe through the crack. She wonders whether you're real.

You are red, red like Barnum & Bailey signs, like middle-age
crazy sports cars, like premium cayenne and Christmas joy.
I am red like a shame, like a bad time of the month,
like warning signs, brake signals, and the irate.
The little girl sunken to the bottom of the shell called me
floats up on spirals of your laughter.

You are green, green like tall pines and nutrients,
like regal robes and emeralds, like eternal life.
I am green like hospital paint and puke, like ugly girl's envy,
like the dull grass men leave for greener pastures.
The little girl... Can she sit on your lap?

You are black, black like great, ancient civilizations,
like the substance of diamonds, like oil wealth, like the backdrop of
the starriest night, like the sum of all things.
She rests. You're near.

I am black.

© Copyright January 24, 2004 Nordette Adams