Musings by The Poet Loriet
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If I had to be a color...
If I had to be a texture...
We played this game
in the minivan...
what color is your paintbrush?
My daughter is
sunshine rose,
flamboyant and bright
yet posessing a
petal softness
uncharacteristic
for a little girl
of her exuberance.
My son is
vanilla tuxedo,
a spark of something
extraordinary
cloaked by
routine
compulsions.
I am
tapioca sky,
light enough to soar
with creamy blues,
but a pearl is there
for those who
take time to
savor me, roll me
off their tongue.
Blue, yellow, white...
and a very unusual
family tree in which
we've learned to color
outside the lines.
Thank God
we've smudged
the damn lines!
Rigidity doesn't
allow for blending,
and together...
we shock
the canvas
and make it
blush.
Lori Beal
If I had to be a texture...
We played this game
in the minivan...
what color is your paintbrush?
My daughter is
sunshine rose,
flamboyant and bright
yet posessing a
petal softness
uncharacteristic
for a little girl
of her exuberance.
My son is
vanilla tuxedo,
a spark of something
extraordinary
cloaked by
routine
compulsions.
I am
tapioca sky,
light enough to soar
with creamy blues,
but a pearl is there
for those who
take time to
savor me, roll me
off their tongue.
Blue, yellow, white...
and a very unusual
family tree in which
we've learned to color
outside the lines.
Thank God
we've smudged
the damn lines!
Rigidity doesn't
allow for blending,
and together...
we shock
the canvas
and make it
blush.
Lori Beal
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