Yellow
7/23/2023
WHO AM I?
The uppercase “I”, the center too straight, upright-ly uptight,
the outer too symmetric, restricting, loudly announcing the ends of a line.
so I rotated “I” 90 degree, lay it down, under this baking June sun.
I shut my “eye”s and fell into this contrived darkness.
I noticed, the brilliant lights imprinted, residual, is colored purree, or indian yellow.
Dreamlike, in this liminal space 2 inches from reality, like Wes Anderson’s <Asteroid City>.
Yellow, is the color of warmth.
Body, baked a little, burned a little.
Yellow, is the color of skin.
Us, hated a little, fetishized a little. A banana, a fever, as they frivolled.
Yellow, is the family name.
Me, marinated in every ounce of my ancestral stories weighing.
Yellow, is the color of shame.
Erotism, in despot and religion, tabooed, and oppressed.
who am i?
The lowercase “i”, loosen the extremities, leaving a curious and playful space between its head and body.
So I curved my body, like “i”, pointing it towards the sun..
And suddenly remembered, that book I read, by the indigenous writer Sasha Lapointe.
That paper faded, in yellow, and that page folded, pointing its edge towards that radiating poem.
Yellow, is who I am…
