When I Tasted Color

A golden sunflower
began the remembering.
I lived then
for a moment
in the childhood place.

Red was the fire from a match
in my mouth.

Once I swallowed
the yellow of the sun.
It flowered in me,
planting seeds.

The sharp scent of pine
or breathing in
new mown grass
rolled green around my tongue.

Grandmother’s freshly washed sheets,
pulled the taste of white
from basement to kitchen
from kitchen to basement.

Sipping ice cold water
from a Christening cup
was silver.

Brighter than any blueberry
blue bounded from
a moonlit lake
staining my lips.

One day my mother
handed me a box
of Crayolas.

So many choices,
so many ways to be orange.

I never tasted color again but I know,
once I swallowed the yellow of the sun.
It flowered in me planting seeds.