My bitter yellow comes with me on walks.
It’s a shadow of a past that refuses to talk.
A room in Oklahoma filled with quilted flowers,
A closet with dolls and childhood trousers.
My bitter yellow is all that I want — A craving,
A joy. A feeling of distraught.
It’s the corduroy couches that pass the hour,
A dated television that slowly devours.
You don’t know my bitter yellow —
The aches. The pains. The homemade Jell-O.
My memories of citrus always seem to sour,
My tainted southern vowels created a coward.
My bitter yellow starts with divorce:
A couple that carries lifetime remorse.
It’s a sailor dress that I wore for hours,
A spoonful of honey, I wish to devour.
It’s a continuous trip of graveyard endeavors.
A terrible feeling that drifts on forever.
My personalized soliloquy, an orchestrated cello
A room in Oklahoma stained bitter yellow.
