a technicoloured state

Intro.

A stroke here, a stroke there

swirling, dancing, paint

the little girl lost in a technicolored state

squinting her eyes, something felt incomplete

a splash of forest to fill the hole

tall evergreens made the abstract feel whole.

Most days, she'd sit for hours

formative colours penetrating her soul

red like grandma's manicured nails

orange like the first sip of morning

yellow like the beating sun

green, green grass that tickled her tiny toes

blue in the sky as animals floated by

purple, her favourite flower-girl three-pleated dress

pink were her mother's ballerina slippers,

slipped away in the dark closet, beside a ponytail of long black hair

still smelling faintly of shampoo.

"Why do you always paint rainbows?"

Mrs. Cora asked

Sarah shrugged as the colours basked

no words to explain how they soothed

when mama's tired tears would flow

while little ol' Sarah would get lost in the rainbow

so she wouldn't see.

red was her anger; never enough money

orange when she was let go; since Architects and motherhood didn't mix

yellow peeping in; she'd greet the morning sun as mama was on the mend

green four-leaf clovers; wishing for her to be happy once again

blue like the Santorini sea; "If I jumped." She thought, maybe she'd be free

purple crocuses gathered when sister was born

pink care bear she hugged when feeling forlorn.

Apple acrylic nails

Grandma's nails were always red and dainty

with raspberry lipstick that matched in hue

a subtle cue that hid her shame

of all times she heard those dirty Jap names.

Rows of strawberries raised her

on foreign lands, where none of the ancestors married

instead of silk, her mama weaved strawberries into wine

fermenting and hidden in the attic, sipping so all felt fine.

A thriving business on the farm, my great-grandparents built

a maple leaf replaced the crimson sun where the harvest never wilt

but on one fear-mongering day in 1942

colonial powers decided to take all they ever knew.

Banana is her golden skin

Summer days at the swimming pool

chlorine fumes twirl in the scent of grass-cut wind

where prepubescent Sarah frolics and plays

and blooms of daisies by the ocean sway.

The mole on her golden skin, in the corner of her upper lip

matched the same-aged Italian boy from up the street

his skin a similar golden hue, browned by the beating sun

swimming closeby in shimmers of turquoise blue.

For the first time that day, she saw the colour of her skin

through the eyes of a potential lover, whom she thought was akin

banana yellow; "you're that Chinese girl next door?" he asked

shamefully confused, she came to know her mama's morning blues.

Green is her soul

Green were her favourite days, with her uncles she played

down the crocodile slide, into the soupy infested swamp

foraging for lepricrons and pots of shiny gold

with their colour blind eyes, seafoam sunsets they'd see.

Broccoli trees made vegetables tasty

like the frosted leaves on Auntie Sharron's cupcakes

for picnics, she'd bake sweets in the same fields we'd rake

when come fall, the leafy-greens turned amber.

Blue orca

She swam with blue orcas

every night in her dreams

telling tales of wise men and the people they've seen

one day, swim with us in the deep ocean blue they hummed.

They came again, a few nights in a row.

each time a new song they'd sing

circling in circles

in bubbles that lulled.

Purple skies dance

Sister loved her purple skydancer suit

she wore it till it tore, after tripping on that root

with it, she could fly and dance up in the sky

laughing at the wood bugs in the cracks of the street.

Pink skies mesmerize

Pink, delicate pink tutu's pranced

in rose-coloured clouds that filled the night's sky

deep in the Amazon's medicine, she heard her heart cry

"hear me!" it beat. "Your soul is magical, unique!"

Cotton candy poofs parted, bliss as above so below

as the wounds of her forefathers brewed in the storm's glow

passed on from mother to child, starting seven generations ago

all in perfect timing, all with melodic rhyming.

Her mother's body suspended, in the vast milkyway

lines of her soul dangled and spun through karma's ballet

bugs plucked from the web, her soul was freed

together they wept tears of joy, forever they beleived.