Too revealing, too bright, when everyone painted the color of air, I painted ground, brown flowing from my paintbrush, yellow for balance.
I am airborne with a fleet of paint samples, the smell of acrylics, layers of watery colors to finger and ponder, to sweep up and fan out.
Still damp from yesterday’s late storm, grass goes unmowed, dog silent at my feet, she listens with me for traffic one block over as it deviates
in waves, leaves me waiting for the squeal of tires, the crunch of metal on metal, glass blowing its arc over both lanes. The silence
after. Moving to this house, a woman ran her stop sign, slid both our cars across the wide street into a waiting hedge. I was bruised from thigh to
ankle, my heart punching my rib cage as if it wanted out, a case of Coors busted open in the back seat. The scent of beer heavy on the August
air. Even after considering heaven, I chose paint the color of pond water, dark gray for the far wall. But this morning, I am surrounded by Denver sky,
wide and relentless. Can you understand this, when I’ve chosen to be lost, something has found me wanting and handed me blue?
From the chapbook, Between Send $10 to Tiger's Eye Press, P.O. Box 9723, Denver, CO 80209 Two copies for $15, three for $20
