Colours Passing Through Us
BY MARGE PIERCY
Purple as tulips in May,
Mauve into lush velvet,
Purple as the stain blackberries
Leave on the lips, on the hands,
The purple of ripe grapes
Sunlit and warm as flesh.
Every day I will give you a color,
Like a new flower
In a bud vase on your desk.
Every day I will paint you,
As women color each other
With henna on hands and on feet.
Red as henna, as cinnamon,
As coals after the fire is banked,
The cardinal in the feeder,
The roses tumbling on the arbor
Their weight bending the wood
The red of the syrup I make from petals.
Orange as the perfumed fruit
Hanging their globes on the glossy tree,
Orange as pumpkins in the field,
Orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs who come to eat it,
Orange as my cat
Running lithe through the high grass.
Yellow as a goat's wise and wicked eyes,
Yellow as a hill of daffodils,
Yellow as dandelions by the highway,
Yellow as butter and egg yolks,
Yellow as a school bus stopping you,
Yellow as a slicker in a downpour.
Here is my bouquet,
Here is a sing song
Of all the things you make me think of,
Here is oblique praise for the height
And depth of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Green as mint jelly,
Green as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
The green of cos lettuce upright
About to bolt into opulent towers,
Green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear glass,
Green as wine bottles.
Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums, bachelors' buttons.
Blue as Roquefort, blue as Saga.
Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow,
Blue as shadows on new snow,
As a spring azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.
Cobalt as the midnight sky
When day has gone without a trace
And we lie in each other's arms
Eyes shut and fingers open
And all the colors of the world
Pass through our bodies like strings of fire.
