Belief in Yellow

A glaze settled over her vision, tinting everything a murky brown.
This winter no longer seemed gray but the sepia tones of daguerrotype
Images: old-fashioned, detached, sullen in the moment captured.

So many big fears had abated after the accident. 
Still, these small shifts of non-reality churned the dread
That life would be forever altered, halted, and haunted
By sensations beyond her control,
Her own body turned against her.

Such a small decision made resolute in depth --
A focus on color: just one.
Her favorite color yellow would be her guide, symbol,
theme, subconscious influence, mantra, and promise of
return
But where and how?
A focus on what she new would hint of the brightness
an egg yolk at morning
a daffodil delivered in the vase by her bed
her favorite childhood doll now resting in her arms
She couldn't see the yellow, all muddled with everything else
But she knew it was there
Believed,
Looked,
Imagined, and 
Trusted.

One day she asked for a break outdoors, 
with the yellow sun in the bright blue sky she had asked about.
Bundled in blankets, her head gently nestled in full pillows,
Loved ones next to her
A nurse giddy to leave for a few minutes.
She felt the warmth soak onto her skin,
Heard birds chirping in the clearness, and 
Smelled crisp air, so she knew the sun was yellow
Believed,
Looked up,
Imagined, and 
Trusted.

The eyes danced with shapes and colors scattering,
Pulling in and out of focus,
Strains of brightness striking new blows, and 
Little by little the colors starting to come into focus.

The days she left, she felt the quiver of spring's chill 
In the bottom of the breeze and a softer warmth for just a moment.
Well, she didn't really, but she knew about spring winds, and she 
Believed, 
Open her arms, 
Imagined, and 
Trusted.

Were there two birds she heard sitting outside?
What was the taste? Did she even know?  She could remember, and so she would
With each morning, then after the naps, and into the evening
She would assign what she knew to be true, 
Believing,
Opening her mind to remember,
Imagining, and
Trusting.

It was when the blossoms came two months later,
When the lavenders, lilacs, pinks, creams, and soft greens 
Dappled together in whispered breezes
And spread across her one day in the garden
That she again saw the yellow, shyly lifting in happiness and hope.
The brightness filled her, and she looked and looked and looked 
Once more and always
Through soft tears of joy.

 

On the Edge of Heaven

“Angel Wing,” I said

my name.

They buzzed me into the

hallway with light yellow walls.

I didn’t need an I.D.

 

We always visited at Thanksgiving

surrounded by various hues

of orange, black, and dandelion.

 

Mabel in her Mad Hatter blue

linen shirt followed you to the table

and hovered, talking to herself.

 

Once,

you followed us

back down the light-yellow hall,

clung to the door jambs

begging to leave with us,

banging on the door

after they pried away your fingers.

 

This time,

white snow blanketed the patio

where we would sit the last time.

The tree leaves were green

that day, lush

with harmonious vigor.

You asked,

 

“Where’s Bob?

He should be back

from the garden by now.

He knows he needs to visit

when family is here.”

 

You asked where I lived, again,

even though you knew I had just answered.

 

“Where is Bob?

He will be so unhappy

that he missed his family visiting.”

 

Your great-grandsons were so handsome,

and you commented, again, on my naturally curly hair.

 

“That Bob makes me so mad

when he won’t come in

from that garden

and visit his family.”

 

I was supposed to tell he was buried

six years ago, and you

were at the funeral,

but I didn’t have the heart.

 

This time, though,

you sat in your colors

of truth and wisdom

on the edge of heaven.

Hour 10: Colours

You may not realise this, but blind people, even those who've been blind since birth, still have favourite colours. In this poem I try to give an insight into how a blind person can relate to colour. My favourite colour is red. The last colour I remember seeing was the yellow of some daffodils / jonquils in a planter outside my family doctor's office in Decatur, GA :)

Colours

The tickle under barefoot feet
is green, emerald in the sun, viridian in the shade.
The skies are blue
singing with birds and be-anything clouds.
Grey are the paths and brown the park benches
on which linger the people you've never met,
the conversations you'll one day have.

Yellow is the warmth that wraps an arm around
your shoulders, quiet and happy,
simple, and simultaneously profound.

Black is the unknown
the emptiness of someone gone
the fears we do not like to own.

Pink is a birthday, immediately unwrapped
giddy with ribbons and party friends
the kind of day that runs until we're super tired, then ends,
collapsing into purple shades and closing eyes.

The stories and the dreams, white
the sheet of paper, the field of snow
waiting for footprints to bite.

This heart, red like nothing else
the essence of danger, love and life.