Coloring Days
In cups of dye,
pastel colors cover
smooth white shapes
that tip and rock
and slowly settle;
in a moment,
fragile shells
of yellow, lilac, blue
emerge, changed
as if by baptism.
Memory is like this --
it colors the days
with shades of what remains.
It weakens and submerges
but does not break us;
it holds us fragile,
self-contained,
and we come forth
what we were but new,
what we were
and who we are, but new.
This is lovely. I think I say that all your poems are lovely (well, they ARE). This one holds hope for me: "It weakens and submerges
ReplyDeletebut does not break us." May it be so...
I hope so, Bug!
Delete"what we were but new,
ReplyDeletewhat we were
and who we are, but new." Very profound :)
"as if by baptism" I really like those words. Lovely piece, Karen.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kat.
DeleteI like the image of memory that "colours the days with shades of what remains." The line is full of meaning and reflects what memory really does. Beautiful. The photo is lovely, too.
ReplyDeleteGood job. It brought to mind the memory of me and mom so colorfully.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Gnome!
ReplyDeleteKaren I can't live in the paste world of colors, they blind me. I need the bright harshness of the primary unmuted oils to be able to see and remember from whom I am descended.
ReplyDeletepastel not paste
DeleteWonderful restful calming words - especially like
ReplyDelete"it colors the days
with shades of what remains"
Anna :o]