An Unnamed Shade

I used to skip lines on loose-leaf paper while using crayons,

every other space got filled with orange wax.

A peer showed me if I waved that piece of paper fast,

the white and orange would blend together.

'Creamsicle', I thought, 'Peach', He said.

I could taste the vanilla cream inside the blank lines,

it was summer and the cold treat made my mouth cold,

so much so, that it made it warm again.

Those past months go by faster now that I try and remember,

promising myself that I wouldn't forget,

but I have, and only my senses take me back now.

To winter, while helping Mom put away groceries,

there were tiny mandarins wrapped up inside decorated boxes,

their buttery peels gave me scented finger prints,

leaving the familiar citrus smell of the holidays on everything I touched.

My best friend's favourite time of year,

her most beloved childhood cartoon characters,

bouncing tigers, sarcastic cats, and adventurous fish,

now orange for her baby boy, and his name-sake,

as she makes him laugh with toys reminding of nature,

a playful fox that's just a fiery blur in the woods.

My own child coming 9 months before hers,

that my husband calls a little sweet potato,

and I reply to him, as her voice, playfully saying, "I yam."

I am orange too, I was born in the fall.

Every year the stores decorate for me,

autumnal wreaths, leaves, and pumpkins lining their shelves.

If I become still and quiet for long enough,

I feel the vibration of what my body is made of,

the particles of my skin moving, stretching, and growing,

just the same and the alternating stripes of orange and white,

being waved fast enough to turn me peach,

or maybe creamsicle,

maybe just some unnamed, undiscovered shade

for this rind that covers my entirety,

with fragrant blossoms and noticeable pores,

that somehow still propel me to take daily vitamins,

and find the meaning in my everyday life.