Tuesday, January 31, 2023

I wrote this poem in 2021
but did not take the photo.
As with most of my poetry,
I set it aside and just now
re-read it. I think it aged
well, but did it yellow as
it did so?

Yellow  by Sara J. Glerum

 it’s a noun

an adjective

an intransitive verb

when it’s painted on a bus

we know who’s inside

when it’s painted on a car

we know we could herald it

it’s uninvited like dandelions

and sour like lemon pucker

tasty like spread on warm bread

lends its fragrance to cheese

and radiates from sweet corn

it’s my favorite precious metal

and my long-gone teddy bear

and the gorgeous linen sundress

stained into ruin by breast milk

it’s the color of breast milk itself

it heralds spring with highlights

it beams through summer sun

it warns of coming autumn

and perks up winter drab

it’s my birth month’s flower

and a child’s crayoned stars

it can make people happy

except when it’s their teeth,

eyeballs or a tuxedo shirt

it can make a person sad

when it overtakes a book

or crinkles a long-saved letter

when our mother departed earth

we asked the florist to weave a pall

of roses in her favorite hue and

yellow became for us her daughters

the color of heartbreak

the color of devastation

the color of mourning

the color of memory

it’s rarely seen in gloomy paintings

except to make the dark seem darker

and on its own it bursts with joy

like angels shining forth

to quench our thirst for light