poem: Getting Rid of YellowA Chapter by Marie Anzalone
I remember blue.
And all of my yesterdays coalesce,
to discharge tomorrow
from a smoking barrel
and I think maybe I am mistaken-
perhaps just the filter for the lens
And I put it there,
trying to rid my life of memories of the yellow.
But everything turned verdant, instead
like they always told me
was supposed to have happened.
And maybe it rained milk
and the yellow I thought was mustard gas
was really honey
because, well, such is the way of memories-
they lead you astray,
down paths of broken mirrors
that only reflect partial truths
and real feelings, but distorted
and maybe it was never real after all.
I remember blue-
and I always associated it with you.
© 2013 Marie Anzalone
Shelved in 3 LibrariesAdded on May 21, 2012
Last Updated on April 1, 2013
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