Blue. White. Green.

Sky and clouds.

Rolling hills and lawn and trees.

These three brilliant, dazzling colors

dominate, as far as the eye can see.

To the right,

stroked between heaven and earth,

a long, low white house, modern and

featureless but for horizontal slabs

of black reflective glass

stretched like unspooled, undeveloped

film along the length of its recumbent

form.

From this structure’s back protrudes –

like the sweep of eyelet bridal train –

a semicircular deck of wood,

white, as well, but of a faded, ashen shade,

its brilliance muted, bleached

away.

And she, me, I.

The interruption.

Standing amidst this color scheme –

serene blue and white and green;

in striped, knee-high socks of every hue –

purple, pink, pale-yellow, orange, and

chartreuse;

one hand holds a bar of soap –

lavender-scented,

lavender-paper wrapped,

lavender, in both tint and tinge.

Standing there,

breeze gently lifting the hair

from our shoulders as we break the bar

in two and slip a brittling half into each sock’s

pulled-high, ribbed, fine-woolen

cuff.

I, me, she –

the lone bright-colored slash of verticality

in the entire placid,

tri-hued,

reclining,

scene.

 

— C.Birde