Color Me


Yesterday was the day of red.  Blood.  Anger.  Eyes veiled with crimson.  Red is the color of mortal crime.  Once the blood runs the halls, there is no clean.  Ever again.

Sylwia Makris

If my heart is blackened and I seem antique, know that under the charred flesh and onyx eyes is new flesh.  The skin saves hope from the careless hands of fire.  Behind the iron is the only woman who knows how to love a king.


You fill me up.  From the bottom to the top.  The orange earth pushes between our toes and we walk together like this.  Two children staying one step ahead of time.


I never thought the day could come when the rosy pink of my youth would turn to dust and blind me.  Fear has aged the blush, turning my heart a frightening purple.


Chalked hands tracing white walls.  Winter, barren hours, and endless miles lay ahead like a marble tundra.  There is beauty in this white world.  Just like there is beauty in the empty rooms we leave behind right before the last door is shut.


With out white, black has no outline.  With out black, white is just a multiplication of what has never been done.


The blue in your eyes reminds me of the ocean I grew up on.  White crested, green blue waves, unruly and uninviting.  There was this unspoken truth there that we all acknowledged.  Most of those who ventured into those ice waters would not be coming home.


As a child I would often bed in the moss and loam of our pacific forests.  The smell was so old and so fresh all at once.  I always hoped that that would be the day that a fairy would decide to show itself to me.  I suppose that I still feel this way.  Oregon green is the color of my imagination.


Gold.  The warmest of metals.  The prize.