she packs yellow in her pockets
in case she has the chance
to scatter sunshine
like butter on sourdough toast
watching it spread like the wildfires in the woods

the lemony hue needles its way through the linen
soaking into her skin
where her periwinkle freckles welcome it;
opposites on the color wheel
spinning together
complimenting complements

this is what falling in love looks like
not practical or prepared with gumboots and an umbrella
but capricious,
skipping along
singing a new and pleasant canary-like song

there’s a new beat in her heart today
for she met a forest ranger
who is not a wolf
and is not afraid of her penchant to burn
and who drinks sunshine
like she carries in her pockets,
the kind you can’t get at any old storefront
and certainly not on a day with clouds

this is not the love of fairy tales
where the kiss is shared at the top of a skyscraper,
no
this is the love that leaves a trail of daisies in its wake
flowered crumbs to find her way into the forest
not out
where she checks her pockets and finds
yellow exactly where she put it
dripping now like honey from her fingers
for
she is her own forest ranger
in her own forest
scattering sunshine because she can