Color Speaks

Color paints the history of my poetic youth.

It uses bold, bright lines to captivate my truth.

It is color that writes me the memoir of my life.

A splash of color swells to a moment when

memory and mind collide.

Brown painted the color of my sweet Daddy's arms

after he had spent hours in sunlight working

on my family's farm.

My father wore his work well in the shade of blue collar.

Praying that his crops would match the color of the almighty dollar.

My Mama spent her days over a green colored stove,

proclaiming her great cooking skills to all who

dared to know.

Baby blue was baby brother , which is my favorite color.

Enhancing my joy just as it did then.

It fills my cup with so much love, a refreshment on

which I have come to depend.

Dingy dull white has arms that cradle me tight

like my grandparent's old country store.

It comforts me and holds me now just as it did

when I was four.

Out of red brick was Bethel Baptist Church made.

On it's back pew was my faith's foundation laid.

As with my stories, my colors grew softer.

Pastel pink marked the birth of my first daughter.

Opening a broad new horizon of adventures epic and wild,

expanding and breaking barriers with the birth of each new child.

The colors fade, they bleed, they blend,

creating a color wheel that never ends.

Colors tell stories, write lines, speak truth.

From now to eternity, Color, I will be your muse.