Yellow.

 


Yellow is the warmth of the sun

softly sliding 

- through the windows of your room,

Gently kissing your forehead 

After a long night's sleep. 

Yellow blends well with the butterflies 

tickling your abdomen

before the big day at work,

beneath deep layers of sweaty palms 

and breath-in, breath-outs.

Yellow hides itself entirely

within the bustling crowd at the stadium,

- in your hometown

cheering for your favourite team.

Yellow is the shade spread 

all over the kitchen walls

that spot a mother feeding her children

- a little more than what's left for her. 

Yellow smells like caramel popcorn

at the movies

- medium-sized with butter on the sides,

rightly settling your sugar cravings.

Tucking a lone strand of hair behind my ear, 

he asked 'what colour is yellow?'

I held his palm and placed it over the daffodils 

- we planted on the twenty-fifth birthday

of the born-blind man I'm in love with,

Briskly he smiled until his eyes gleamed. 

Inking this poem in Braille, I said

'this is yellow'.

-J.

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