"What's your favorite color?"
wide-eyed children ask,
believing the answer defines the person.
When I was in the age of strong opinions,
instant decisions (mostly without thought),
the answer was "red"
like my fleecy corduroy pants
my handy-dandy snowsuit
the red-barn color of my dad's apartment.
"What's their favorite color...?"
while crafting favors of foam and stickers
for my 9th birthday party.
Mine were blue and green
like the planet I love,
like my turtle in his tank,
like my mother's car.
What's your favorite color, Haze?
my sister prompted, after proudly proclaiming her own.
Her excitement reminds me of a dream world
of asking innocent, sweet questions
with sincere answers,
of caring deeply that a gift fits the person,
I don't know how to answer.
I Love them all.
Blue, coral, green, magenta, crimson....
A tangle of clash and compliment,
a complex piece of music
magnificently writhing and flowing through the air.
Without one, there couldn't be another.
This may not be scientifically fact,
but I know it to be true.
It's one of those paradoxical questions
that can only be answered
by the admittance that either it is impossible
Or perhaps I'd just rather let the mystery live.