Poem: The Color Orange

i once beloved

a pair of converse high-tops

bright neon orange

my mom bought them for me

on a trip to Disneyworld

she was always showing me

it was safe to be myself—

but sometimes language

can only be translated with time

my mom bought me shoes

bright and fast enough

to run to the stars

a gift of Mercury

angel wings on ankles

the color of gold, when

it’s warm as a bonfire

lit aglow by Apollo's favor

me, a middle-schooler

gifted with the confidence to wear

bright neon orange

high-tops, in the middle of

a bleak Canadian February—

me, the 1st of March

marching in with my

orange neon, bright—

that was me, middle-schooler.

then at some point

i fell victim to

my inner grief

i wore black to mourn

the me who believed

i “could never wear orange

unless you want to look like a clown”—

well, i know better now

i’m shedding my

old crone skin, my

rusted bones

rusted closed

to contain the orange of my soul

let me fly to the stars

on my bright orange shoes—

let me dance with the clouds

let me sing back to you

what they giggle in my ear:

the point of the rain is

to remember

the orange in you

you have the sun inside you

a golden bonfire

shining from the inside out

it sets you apart

leaves star-colored footprints

everywhere you go

the ground forever blessed by

you, a flaming hot Cheeto—

yes, You—

where is your orange dust?

my mom loved me so much

she gave me orange shoes

bright enough

to light a path to the stars

she taught me how to fly, how to steer

how to wear my heart on my feet

and call the atmosphere home

thank you for the shoes, Omma

thank you for being my earth

you showed me who i am:

the color orange

electric neon

bright and beloved

i got it from you.