A Season of Yellow

Yellow, how do we read you?  Sickly or simple as happiness?  Simple as just living without ponderous thought.   Daffodils in their junior prom dresses.  Come rain, come light snow petals quiver but they don’t drop.  

Forstyhia too.  On the frontline of joy.  Out from under, like Easter.  In the face of death.  Breathing quivering glaring at darkening rain clouds that glare and brighten them

 A duck egg’s yolk, outsized sun.  That which feeds in scarcity is revered as a goddess

and fear, and disillusion, too much optimism, too much yellow that fades, becomes dingy, a street sign — crossing! bus! children! — in need of attention

and fear of the other in their own birthed skin —

and dreaming, and dreaming without bounds, call it naive, call it imagination. Yellow as an M & M.  Yellow as a lozenge, a candy-colored soft-swirl dream, a Saab sportscar soft as a miniature car capsule 

Yellow, simple as the sketch of light that draws your face in laughter

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2 Responses to A Season of Yellow

  1. louis gitlin says:

    My first car was a yellow Plymouth Gold Duster.

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