being bi polar

Being bi polar

sometimes I’m blue

As the sky

Looking into a mirror of water.

And sometimes I am as clear as the water

truthfully, lovingly displaying the sky's reflection.

I can be as blue black as the sky descending from day to night, after the sun has set

And before the stars come out.

I am as deeply blue as that.

I am as green as grass

Crushed under bare feet

After a summer rain.

I am as alive as that green.

I am slate gray.

Slate gray is the color of a heron

I saw when once when I was far from home

Standing like a sentinel in the corner of a pond

Solitary, silent, stoic in the rushes.

I am purple. Astounding, breathtaking, rare, precious purple. Field of lavender purple.

I am marvelously purple.

I am red too.

I had a perfectly little white dog

When I was 10.

She ran out into the street.

She was crushed under the wheels of a truck.

I remember her guts spilling out of the white fur

As she lay in the street crying, dying.

Her blood was a shocking, cruel red.

A tragic red.

I am as red as that.

Sometimes

I am black.

I am black as the middle of the night

Where all the nightmares live

Where you lay on the bed

terrified of the nameless things

You strain to see and hear in the pitch darkness.

I can be very black.

I am white, white like the freshly laundered sheets

Grandma used to hang out back on the clothesline.

I hold the memory of their dazzling white

in the soft golden of early morning

Fat bees lingering, enticed by their perfume

While they danced in the wind,

Free of their utility.

I am whiter than those sheets.

Once, I held up a glass of

Freshly squeezed lemonade

To the light of the sun

On a cloudless day when the sky

Was as blue as it will ever be

To see the pulp float around, down,

Down to the bottom of the glass,

Settling like sediment in the sweet.

I am almost as yellow as that lemonade.