Look Where the Yellow has Brought Me
Meghan Shaffer
Look where the yellow has brought me -
sleeping on red bricks,
blanketed by salted silences,
wet and sticky from
leftovers of you.
I am not alive to
feed your madness.
In fact, I’m glad this
is the last round of
self-inflicting
sadness that I will
allow you to send
me in a package.
Violence and
solace, you come
wrapped in a bow,
rotten
at a doorstep –
a beautiful mind.
He knows all of
the words but
I am blind, and
if weakness
were a color
it’d be an
orange wool sweater
hidden in your closet.
Tomorrow and
thereafter will be a
garden of zinnias,
I promise
to myself.