Instructions to the Painter

As gold as a cloud that can’t rain,

And goes about its days hoping that the other clouds

Won’t figure it out. Inconspicuous.

That’s the gold of my blue eye.

As pink as an only child,

Born to an only child, on Mother’s Day.

That’s the pink of me when you see me

With my brothers and sisters.

As indigo as a graceless child, late to talk,

Slow to rise, timid to fall, close to corners, far from the middle path,

Running through youth as if through a dark wood.

That’s the indigo of my cheek when you see me afraid.

As pewter as a summer bear,

Caught in a trap, and in the sun, by a stream

Which he considered his. When the pain recedes,

And dissolves, like pigments in your rinse cup,

What takes its place is the pewter of my finger tips,

Right about now.

I hope you capture me. I hope I’m as white in your hand

As a ball in a glove. I hope I’m as yellow in your jar as a bee in a cup.

I hope I’m as red in your cheek as a crime in the snow.

I hope you capture me.