aquamarine, sky blue
chestnut, raw umber
spring green, cornflower
we safeguarded
our new orange boxes packed with
slim harlequin soldiers
arranging their glossy pointed heads
by tone or hue or rank
apricot, periwinkle, copper, maize
risking regret
if our fingers pressed too hard
snapping one in two
then, its middle sagging
miserably held together
by only its pale paper uniform
a wounded trooper
no longer tall and erect
no longer tall and erect
spoiling the lot
years later we peeled them
like Easter eggs
crumbled them into a warm Maxwell House can
brick red melding with
burnt sienna
midnight blue, lemon yellow
poured the slick liquid into
amorphous holes dug in the backyard
lined with beige sand
to form gritty tie-dyed
candles we'd light
in dorm rooms one day soon
unaware our childhoods
would drift away with the gray smoke
behind the flame
unaware our childhoods
would drift away with the gray smoke
behind the flame
for Laura on her birthday
Love this and this part.
ReplyDelete"its middle sagging
miserably held together
by only its grey paper uniform" so much said there.
Pamela
Wonderful images of ordinary crayons in this poem!
ReplyDeleteI love "slim harlequin soldiers," and "arranging their glossy pointed heads." Well done!
Note to readers: I am frequently revising my poems so you may find a phrase or two changed occasionally if you ever come back.
ReplyDeleteThank you for bringing back a sweet memory. Such memories are a cherished gift.
ReplyDeleteFrom now on I will always think of September's crayons as "thin harlequin soldiers" with "glossy pointed heads." And I will think twice before throwing out the "wounded troopers." Perhaps a candle making session is in order.
- Laura
You're welcome, Laura! And happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteWonderful. I especially like thinking of the crayons as little soldiers lined up there. Perfect! My writing group is using crayon colors as our daily prompts this week. I got a lovely box of 96 and have been picking a color at random each day to write about. Like your poem, the process is bringing back so many memories!
ReplyDeleteStrangely sweet. I really like it!
ReplyDeleteThis brought some of my own memories... there was something magical about a new box of crayons, and I always felt the same disappointment when one broke. I didn't do the candle bit, but I like how you describe it too, and tie it up at the end.
ReplyDeleteThis redefines, exemplifies and colorizes the word "transition" for me! Wonderful.
ReplyDeletemm i can smell them
ReplyDelete'Visually arresting' comes to mind as I read this poem. It's like an exercise in imagery, how and to what extent it can trigger memory. In my case, I remembered my first box of Crayola; it was heavier than my lunch box then, but I still insisted on carrying it myself. Burnt sienna was, and still is, a favorite hue of mine.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this. Cheers.
from Therese B -- Really gorgeous poem, Amy, and such a fine tribute to a life-long friend. The word choices in this poem are stunning. It seems you have been writing poems for many years! Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem with the world. (And to think that today, kids "color" on the computer, no crayons necessary!)
ReplyDeleteYou are so kind, Therese! Thank you. I'm blushing (carnation) pink.
ReplyDelete