When I was young,
I named color.
Created landmarks,
based on aura.
Yellow angel road
ochre dilapidation, grey tree fort
hill. Falling holly berry house.
Memory of fear, darkness.
Foggy high beams approaching
like distant moons.
Cacophonous river slate.
That’s a winter sound.
And yet, these places
called to me, to be part of home.
Even with all the multitude
of beliefs and colors like fight.
who doesn’t want to grow up
and find their sanctuary waiting?
To find their childhood memories
keeping places long gone and forgotten
very much alive.
