More

February 27, 2014

More

My first words were More, more.

Fitting, since for a child, nothing is ever, ever enough.

And now, in the days when life has become a fight

against the body, against the cold, against the thought

that nothing, nothing is enough,

as a new morning throbs again in the sky, I again

stare into the sun, wishing the colors were more, more.

More than chemical. More than this.

april

February 23, 2011

april

there’s something to be said

for the first glimpse

of raw, wild green

after endless months

of sick, chalky white,

for warm crayon-box colors:

the dandelion sun, the robin’s egg sky,

for the first sharp, biting breath

of a spring rain

as the frozen rivers dissolve

into a magical confusion

and rush,

for the rainbows on soap bubbles,

for the graceful arc of a red swing,

and for the chaotic ballet

my heart performs

whenever you throw me a smile.

technicolor

January 25, 2011

technicolor

hospital white, blinding fluorescent lights:

you can’t see the dusky boardwalk outside,

it’s too bright in here.

they wash out the acrylic t-shirt designs

hanging on the far wall, the shelves

with glass globes of smiling sapphire dolphins diving,

the shiny silver plastic toy guns with fire-orange triggers.

everything drowned out, overwhelmed

by the rushing tide of stark, shallow white.

a string of flowers in my hand, all chemical,

a fabricated, fabric lei.

burn copper, you get the emerald;

sulfur gives you the acid blue.

but not here.

here, it’s all

sparking magnesium white.