Synesthesia.
Such a funny word for an ethereal thing.
Purple is
My cousin and best friend, with long dark curls and fuzzy horse sweaters.
My brother, who is quick to yield when an argument threatens to break out and tumble away with the conversation.
Saturday. The day when things are almost done. I’ve got time to relax. If I just finish one more project…
I must be rambling
But why do these colors float in my head?
Red is
Another brother, sporting bright shoes and perfectly fixed hair.
Anger, hot and dry and sharp and safe. I slice others with my words, too well-placed. They hurt me too like that.
I don’t have a lot of Blues or Greens.
I guess because I never liked them too much.
Yellow is my favorite.
Yellow is
Daisies weaved in wild hair,
Laughing as we spin till we’re dizzy on the front yard in June.
Torn-paper scraps of poetry that I glue to every surface I can get my hands on.
That one pretty song I can’t stop harmonizing with
And the way a smile lights me up like scattered headlights on the dark night highway.
I wanna scream.
The world is a rainbow.
And if you think I’m crazy,
Maybe your glasses are still blurred by the rain.