The colors of confusion

were not clarified for me

red was muddy water
and green was
dirty jasper
dug up and tossed back

I was left
with lesser understanding,
along with common rocks

They are the shades
of Vietnam, of forgotten women,
small farmers, and artists

no one wants to remember
just eat the soggy noodles
and relish in worldly
culture

no one ever sees
the seas of rice
and never growth

before history runs circles
around itself

Samuel Barber once wrote
Adagio for Strings

I wasn't born then
or part of a history luckier
children will read
and forget
quicker

in an overstimulated
atmosphere

too many visuals,
colors, excitements
that aren't careful or close
enough to take
my breath away

slighter than an eagle
plunging in courtship freefall


I fell when I threw
a banana on a hill
and rebroke
my broken hand
to add injury
to insult

lucky I am right-
handed, calloused-
footed (on the
pinkies) and stubborn

I wish I experienced you
once in a life
of Italian leather
and Indian colors

This life resounds
with lesser thrills
and falls

grey, and pale,
and trying

Today, a student of mine
saw an owl
eye-to -eye
(dusty feathers
and a beady eye)

I thought he was part
of the moldy tree,
muddied colors,
until he moved

ten feet away
in a tangled wood
of jumbled meaning
and a gnarl of thickets

That I could slap
Hemingway
with a bouquet
of fuchsia and tangerine

and introduce him
to talent and more masculine
womanhood

let me join in connection

there is something here

the "wrinkle in time"
was ironed and meaning
bled through
in turquoise

my son cuddles me
quietly, with bare feet
and reminds me of love
when the barred owl
stops hooting my name
at 2am

the luckier ones flew away
to greater Africa
and elephants
unparalleled
stomp objectively
in smokey quartz

God smiles
sometimes
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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