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.