A Fine Disregard for
Awkward Facts
Whoever said that hearts need
to be “Valentine colors” can bite me.
My girl crayons hearts the color of coffee,
daisies with two centers, green waterfalls,
and baby sister with butterfly wings. At five years,
the rules don’t apply yet.
Facts don’t matter,
hard-and-fast by-laws are more like nifty ideas
but are, ultimately, disposable.
She will start school this fall:
she will be told the sky is blue,
the tree has green leaves, and baby can’t fly. I want
to color her with white crayon to resist
reality’s dipping, stubbornly rolling it off in fat
droplets of “no way.”
I want her to think
in ripples of clear purple water, to
burn with pink-sparkle flames, to breathe
neon dandelion scent and sing bonesongs
in all shades of the color "want"--to
give all of THEM something to think about.
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