Yellow

Today’s draft is inspired by a piece of gear I wear at a volunteer gig, by the color of scrubs my massage therapist colleagues wear in the hospitals, and by summer light.

Also inspired by list poetry, which I find an interesting challenge. I can’t say I’ver ever made a list poem that did what I wanted it to, but I keep trying because poems like this exist.

Yellow is the underground dandelion face and

the sun that pulls it out of darkness.

Yellow is Donna’s halo

in the glow of my astigmatism.

Yellow is the paint scratch on my car door,

the last insult from a cruel city.

Yellow is danger, caution, notice,

the color that nudges your eyes more awake.

Yellow is the first spring daffodil,

the fuzzed bumblebee as it stumbles from a morning glory,

the color of the solar plexus —

A shade to take your breath away.

Yellow is the spaghetti squash on my kitchen counter

whose vegetable patience scorns the sprouting potatoes.

Yellow is my hat as I stand watch for my neighbors

hoping for another boring day.

Yellow, primary, indivisible,

playful cousin of red and blue,

promise of joy to a vulnerable world.