Brown

The color of Norse runic symbols

Drawn with blood,

Or Easter eggs

Boiled with shed skins of onions,

Of chocolate and coffee

With a pinch of cinnamon

And ground cloves,

An old-fashioned leather couch

In a cabin-style mansion,

Built of recycled wood and rocks

In Western Montana.

The color of a bear hide

In front of cozy fireplace;

The color of my hair,

Taking a break from dyes.

Nostalgic sepia of photographs —

The past with golden highlights,

Reaching out, reminding,

How fragile, wobbly, precious

Is the time we’re given

On this planet.

The color of Earth Mother Gaia —

Lush fragrant soil,

That feels so heavenly

Under my bare feet,

Unless I step on pinecones... ouch.

Brown is the color of steampunk,

Whatever’s DIY, ingenuity —

Ideas brought to their completion

Despite freak outs and sheer disasters;

Of calm no-bullshit equanimity

When I fall to pieces.

Brown is scary in a way —

I think of Edgar Poe’s mystery tales

Painted maroon and deep burned umber -

Just like his name.

My synesthesia colors “E”

In earthly tones of graves and gardens;

“P” has a hint of smoky purplish

But mostly is the color of rye bread;

“R” is the richest darkest chocolate,

Robust and bittersweet.

Brown is the color of unsettling topics

Like bills to pay, deadlines

Including death itself;

The color of psychoanalysis

(remember ghostly “P”?)

And all the muck we’re hiding

Under that cheerful glossy cover

Of fake facades, made up security.

No wonder brown is unpopular —

Who wants to look inside?

But there iD is —

Coiled at the bottom of my spine:

The root connecting to deep well

Too dark, intense, embarrassing

To talk about... my true ID.

Brown is down-to-earth and nondramatic

In its straightforwardness:

It gives me hunches

I’m not thrilled to pay attention to,

Such as — “Stop wasting time,”

“This loft needs cleaning”,

“That person ain’t your friend,”

And the worst one:

“Where is your stable decent income?”

Yikes... I don’t know.

Brown doesn’t nag or judge —

It states the facts and asks hard questions,

In calm respectful way —

“Respect” is yet another brown word.

This color is about facts and logic,

Maintenance and planning,

Promises fulfilled,

Instead of being ghosted.

(“P-words” for those who shun

Responsibility, another brown word).

This color is too boring for the ego,

Which ironically starts

With earthly “E,”

Hint of humility.

Brown is the color of protection

(another “P-word”),

Prevention, preparation,

And what I personally (lolzies) hate

Called ‘practicality’.

It’s punching in the numbers

As I go shopping, do my taxes,

Or plan ahead...

When unexpected happens

It feels rewarding to put up

That brown shield

And have some gratitude

For heeding gentle whispers

Of deeply rooted insights,

Available to all

If only they would listen.

Unglamorous and unpretentious,

Brown is about being, not impressing;

It never twists my arm,

Remaining on the background:

Moss-covered rocks, tall solid trees

All there for me to hug, to lean on

When my illusions become shattered

And my vision blurred.

“Reality” is yet another word

Which bears this color,

Mysterious yet simple,

Mundane yet transcendental.

It wasn’t after all, coincidental

What I recall as first artistic failure:

As a small kid,

I mixed all play dough colors

In one ball, expecting miracle

Of shining rainbows but instead

It looked as boring as that rye bread.

I was so disappointed...

Kids love bright colors,

And it’s fine.

Now that I know what I’ve learned

I claim that shade as mine.

I love its elegance and grace,

Wise camouflage and Zen,

Reliability, calm space

Of inner wilderness...

It’s Elf amongst the men,

Disguised as plain.

This color brings me back

To basics; to sand-bottom

Of amber-tinted stream

Amongst my native woods.

It’s flexible as trees that bend

And dunes that flow with chaos,

Of which I see no end.

Exhausted, overwhelmed

I reconnect again

With inner space;

Beyond the crust of pain

Which kept me out for too long

I find that place where I belong.

Its bleeding brownness is but a test

As I lay down on the ground to rest

And let the rainbows unfold...

Down there is my pot of gold.

March 2015-May 2021.

N.B.