SPARK

JoAnn Gilles

Rhapsody in Blue  ( acrylic on canvas )

Inspiration

The Color of Loss is Blue

By Uma Gowrishankar

Response

This is the way your nerves web, mesmerising and enamelled with sweat,
when I call you to touch me here. Your silence is the color of my bruised lip, it also the color of solar wind, a blue rash that the work of creation left on Time.

The dream, like veins of mica on stone, snapped when slats of morning light showed from bamboo blinds. That was when blue from the walls of my room went to meet you somewhere midway. It made me feel I was levitating and I forgot all about my dream.

You gave me a sea glass where wind from worlds under the water blew mists of grey when I pressed the bottle near my face.  It spoke the same language that the earth speaks when I crouch down and hold my ear against singing grass. 

I feel like a boat hurled on bluegreen bay, grey water rising to a foamy surface and filling the horizon with colors, that I call upon you to separate as strands and hang on the peg of your remembrance.

It was only when blue spilled from the book I realised I wasn’t alive anymore. The pages torn away, print blurred with a sharp tool are what stay in mind, not the pages well thumbed and crowded with events.

I exist in ribs of words, in curves of letters, in the space between where ink blots the paper blue, in the space bar as I key this poem. I am nowhere else, and that makes me more dead than alive. 

Death is gold, dull and without glow. You get ready to turn away even as I prepare to shed me to become you. Leaving is not a simple matter. I try this, allow silence wrap around the thought and sink memories in the deep blue. 

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