Letting go in watercolor,
my god, the lovely stains,
indigo where the skin broke,
cranberry dropped and bled
in the sparkling bath, this was
our song and we shouted it
’til our throats burned, burgundy,
shut your eyes and you’ll swear
you still hear it.
What if I plant marigolds, tuck
them between blankets of soil
to witness the miracle of green,
what if I rearrange the living room
without a television, wrestle the
couches and chairs against the
wood grain until everything
is a circle again, what if I
embraced starting over like
I know it will be the one thing
old people wish for, ancient
sighs, reminiscing for the
eggshell sheen of a blank page?
Here, now,
petals pressed into all those
yesterdays, we are lovely,
spectacular things, reveling
in everything and everywhere,
play it again, my voice
cannot break to this chorus.
michael king 