May 17, 2009
By Shawanna Wingate BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
Shawanna Wingate BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Letters, numbers, words, sentences.
Unfamiliar people living in one world.
You can't see them
but why do they fly past you?
Appear as white images?

May to January ྟ,
the sun turned blue.
Doors opened up to a shining light
blinding whoever was next in line.
Everyone shouts
"I'm yellow"
and they have every right to be.

The taste of yellow is cheesecake
found in Mrs. Maxwell's factory.
Yellow is
in her smile, and that knock
on the door is yellow and soft.

Yellow flowers cover her world
like a blanket of waves
cover the ocean.
Everything else is black in white.

In her reality she's yellow to come back home. In our reality
we're blue
because she never should have left.

The author's comments:
The poem is inspired by the memory of my mother.

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