What Color is Your Passion

Photo by Lucas Benjamin on Unsplash

Today I wanted to see how some words go in their newness. And I’ve been thinking of our own misguided perceptions of who we actually are, and who we would be if there was no fear, and no society to punish us.

Mary sits in the slatted light of a waning day

arranged in the likeness of her mother-namesake —

benevolent, kind, overlaid with softness.

Who taught her how to smile as she puts a finger in the places

where emptiness consumes her?

Maybe she has chosen the wrong Mary.

The slatted light closes over her face

revealing in the gloom a pin-prick brightness —

the slowly opening eye of her heart’s true passion.

She wants to call it blue like an endless, glassy sea.

It burns the red of the root that brought it forward.