Yellow Ochre

You painted me

with invisible ink

or maybe it was you

that you had painted,

disappearing

into lakes and oceans,

maps and ideas.

My colours seeped back in

like skin regaining its colour

after you press and let go.

I came into existence again

with a new name.

My next mother tried painting me

in pastels.

Pale pink, mint green,

light purple.

Colours that keep quiet

and never tell secrets.

I kept saying

I’m yellow ochre!

I’m duck egg blue!

I’m phthalo green..

(glancing at the dusk sky,

lip quivering).

But she told me

how long she had waited

for a child

and to pick up that lip.

So I did.

Eventually

I stopped feeling

like mustard fields

or dusk skies

at all

and I started to feel

like pavement

and lava

and pain.

When I pushed away from shore

I did so with extra force

so that I could gain distance

faster

than is usual.

Tears showed up

with just as much force

as the world regained

every colour,

from the safety

of my boat

and astounded me

with beauty.

But there is still

a mother in invisible ink

and one who thinks

I failed her ,

so those colours

are intermittent.

I love them

all the same.