Out of the Box

The only drama I’m into these days is
in the way lucent clouds rebel
against brooding skies,
no divine schedule
gather, hang, rain
indigo, goldenrod, midnight blue.

In the dog’s bark
bigger than his frame,
fearful and fierce look the same,
as the frantic chase begins
nowhere but in his mind,
skidding through obstacles, eyes fixed
on that trespasser squirrel
who stares back, undaunted,
chestnut, brown, unbearable fluff-rat.

In the crescendo
of these run-on days
made of tiny ripples
and Technicolor rays
violet, coral, cosmic hues unfound
in the crayon box, not even the 64 set
with the sharpener on back,
I can see it
if I move left of center
around magenta ears, bookends
to your summer crew cut,
an index finger skims crowns
of waxy perfection
as you circle in on
which one to eat
burnt sienna, blue green, green blue.

I watch, and wonder
about the flavor of colors,
more enthralled than appalled
until you are sent to the hallway
and told to stay in for recess.

And it dawned on me today, you stayed.

All this time, standing
against the wall
in dim corridors
denim pants, striped shirt
cerulean, dandelion, maize,
we file past tiles
raw umber
beige
the boy who couldn’t look us in the eye
raw umber
beige
indoor voices moving outside
my heart whispered or maybe screamed
over the playground buzz,
there is more to this than just
a kid who is hungry.

I can’t give back what was taken from you, Bradley.
But I see you
in the hallway, in all the recesses
and humanness
less hideous than interesting
in the gaps, in urges and instinct,
in hearts beating in bodies
crimson, bittersweet, periwinkle.