Friday, May 29, 2015

imperfections: variations on the colour blue

I had forgotten I had written this.
This is part of an anthology of poetry called "imperfections" I had to compile for writer's craft, in which I had to juxtapose my poetry with a published poet's work.
This is one of the 3 pieces I wrote, meant to be paired with this poem by Andrea Gibson (a slam poet who I greatly admire).


blue is the colour of 
3 in the morning 
where sleep doesn’t reach

because blue is the colour of 
the hospital gowns and bedsheets
that my veins
lying beneath 
memories marked with
the scars of IVs 
dripping chemotherapy 
and the remainders 
of surgical thread 
running along my shoulder blade 

because blue is the colour of
the forget-me-nots 
in my hair 
whispering in my ear 
to always be thankful 
for being a survivor 
you’re not expected to win
against the disease 
if the disease is made of 
your own cells

because blue is the colour 
of the ink that 
slips out of the 
hollow in my throat 
onto the page in 
scrawls that 
bruise my fingers 
and dyes my bones
in words that I don’t 
know how to say other than
Mom Dad
I’ve never been afraid of dying
I’m afraid of living with it again

because blue is the colour of 
the lake, the ocean,
the waves that pull
at my feet
trying to lull me to 
the peaceful deep,
but I am afraid of drowning
myself along with the thoughts
the demons
and so I stay awake with the sting 
of salt on my scabs and 
and the taste of 

loneliness thick on my tongue

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