We stand in the rivers fork near the bridge.
It was dusk on that evening when we dared
to remove our clothes and dive in the river.
Reunions challenge us to open our memory banks
we had long ago locked away, knowing the stories
will open the doors of sweet memories and regret.
The childhood school: no longer apple red is scabbed,
peeled, with a faceless, vinyl add on. There is no
laughter, recess songs, no dread of the strap. I turn
and run the bases all the way home. I am the hero of
this final game.
The Meaning of Color
She lived all the colors n the crayon box taking what
she needed to paint each day.
When circles of women kept her outside, she colored
them in shades of gray.
The pious sat in front row pews while Pansy chose
purple and dance hall shoes.
Rewards were measured in laughter and in pain,
happiness was a color she didn’t chase down.
Being herself was enough renown.