Black and red were named early on.
Sooty coal and kiwi seeds, and
fire, pomegranates, and trickles of blood
made themselves known.
But blue — that elusive illusion
and whisper under the earlobe —
evaded the frame for generations.
Blue is the colour of life,
until we get there.
The ocean is blue,
until we hold it in our hands.
And then it slips away,
like a thief stealing the breath
from unspoken words.
I find myself mired in musings such as these
as I watch you back down the driveway,
wishing it was more than dirt and gravel,
and sticky, instead, to hold you in place.
But you go, saying that you must
because you are too blue
to stay.
And like water,
you slip through my fingers
to search for what flows
through our veins
and colours cloudless skies
before a storm.
A hard of hearing writer and artist, Kelly Sargent is the author of two memoirs in verse and a short form poetry collection. Other works have appeared in more than eighty literary journals. She serves as the creative nonfiction editor of The Bookends Review. Visit www.kellysargent.com to learn more.