color…
I’m told there is a color line
in my head.
It’s no surprise, really,
having done most of my growing in one field of wheat.
We were, however, encouraged
to cross the street toward…
Truth be known, the backlighting
black, ‘gainst white
highlights the beauty – does it not?
music… work…
the fashion of cloth or phrase
turning my head
toward muddier hues.
At home
where I live
those muddier hues have left
a cloud.
Perhaps I have a color puddle;
Does everyone?
Krista told me
there is a poverty line, too.
I sometimes mistake the two
wrestling in the dark
like Jacob.
Wrestling, with
words like labor
and choice, and… opportunity.
Charity has been struck from my vocabulary
but kindness jaywalks, or at the least,
maps a 2-way shortcut
around the backyard fence.
Fence…fence…fence
I never liked them.
What divine kindness, then,
will erase these lines that remain,
without hiding a gene’s grandeur
or penciling a different lie?
My head is hurting with all
the questions.
One could hope
for a small fracture
in the line…
jfig/2017
4011caregiverstreet 