Mary Sechyna
Yellow
Yellow.
The end of a wound. What the body gives out. Blood old and forgotten. A stain on white. The beauty of what is left over. The remains. My father's waxen face a sculpture before the lid shut.
Saturn's moons, ribbons, caution. The paper thin artichoke heart beyond the purple tipped spears and dangerous hairs.
Candlelight,jesus' beard, saffron, the aura of goodness, safflower, the aura of beyond, crocuses, the yolk, warm Naples yellow, Attic yellow, Indian yellow extracted from the urine of cows fed only on mango leaves.
Annatto. Ocher. The color of dirt. Sugar daddies. The beige walls in the basement atSt. Patrick's. Chromium.
Jaundiced eyes, incense at easter enveloping me into the dream, the color of light, of damage done, of all the words not said, of the confessional box where my spirit left, of your betrayal, of not holding, of the emptiness of desire, of sorrow, of Mrs. Lomonoco's tears at Sunday mass.
And the yellow of war.Cowardice. Gold Mountain. The men you called yellow built California. Poppies. Heroin before it's shot. Skin trade, golden silk, Eygptian queens wore garments woven from finely spun gold. South African mines. Men lowered into the bowels of the earth.Extraction.For what it is worth.