Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Sunset

Evelyn, the number queen, watches the linking of night to day, while we sip Earl Grey inside the covered porch. Dusky purple clouds against a blaze of pearly pinks, golds, corals, and oranges, ruptured with burgundy red slashes like sudden strikes of lightning. Colors overwhelm in their dazzling fashion to soon blend into the dark night.

Divine and mystical, Evelyn’s measuring life. Her voice surges as she mentions destiny, soul urge, and inner dream. “Each color has a number, like your years.” I wonder if she can intuit I have a bone to pick with colors and numbers.

It started the day I was born when they waddled me in blues, with hopes gunned down for a son. After that, as if an underground cistern, I held, in contempt, colors, mainly blues, and numbers. Still today, while colors drive at my face, I hold a hand across my teacup to keep the sky from falling in.


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prompt: —measuring or counting