Yellow Crayon
In the art gallery where sharp-edged women
stop their strides abruptly before famous paintings
... of colored squares-
In discussions of a novel, where sex is not exactly
sex, only a metaphor we squint eyes at eachother
across wooden tables, desperate to see-
In conversation, where the surety I felt for you
has faded to an ache across my ribs,
faint, but still not nothing-
In a shape-shifting world
where I am taught the shades of
subtleties in the tipping-forward of a smile,
skin striking skin, and
red against blue,
I only want to be white on white,
a small child with a red hair-ribbon
frantically scribbling smiles
in bright yellow crayon.
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