rivers of veins channel through the landscape of my body,
oxygenated red, but not hot enough to boil away
slide the guide of the colour wheel around to learn
the hues of grass, of leaves in the spring
of the algae floating in the dead ponds
I have dammed up in my mind.
Nothing gets in,
nothing gets out.
on a blank white sheet,
a grade seven art-class sun painted
with rays descending from the upper left corner.
Rainy days in an abandoned car at my grandparent’s farm,
my aunt teaching me how to shade and outline
colouring book flowers.
Finding melted remnants later
in a box forgotten on the dashboard.
fades to blue,
becomes a speck in a surfeit of sky,
reflects in waters as if grief is soluble,
can be swallowed.
A throat chakra, if you like
to choke off the air, silence the voice
when fear conquers speech.
Or to build up the reservoir in my mind,
overflow the barriers I have built up,
carry the green along,
stain the yellow
blend with the red to flow down
into the ground.
Spilling out brown,