Yellow, Lost
The forgotten poem, existing in title only: Yellow.
Which is a bruise at three weeks, or memory’s shade in autumn.
In what black folder does it hide? In which blinding light?
I take comfort in primaries, lose sleep at the edges.
Where fraying begins and annotation dwindles to scrawled lines.
Above the bones and flesh of the Egyptian gods. Above my books.
Within these lost minutes. Those moons, bereaved. The hours.
Desire germinates even after our rainless decades. Yellow, again.
The color of sulfur (the devil’s realm) or the traitor’s door.
Of cowardice and warning. Of aging and decay.
How to recover what’s sifted away, the residue of our loves?
Each day more bits break off, never to be reattached.
But you, I blend with the sky, perfecting trees, the grass.
* * *
“Yellow, Lost” was published in wildness, Issue no. 10, in October 2017. wildness is an imprint of Platypus Press, which published my work Interval’s Night, a mini-digital chapbook, in December 2016 in their 2412 series. If you’re not familiar with wildness, check it out. In fall 2016 Poets & Writers named it in their article Nine New Lit Mags You Need to Read.
O at the Edges 
This is a beautiful reflection, Robert.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Merril. A few years ago I found a list of my early publications. Included was a poem titled “Yellow.” I have no recollection of this poem at all, and the publication it appeared in has disappeared. So I wonder…
LikeLiked by 2 people
I love that story behind the poem! 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
I suppose the poem is out there somewhere! 😀
LikeLiked by 2 people
“residue of our loves … bits break off, never to be reattached” – I suppose a poet’s desire to hang onto poems is as futile as desire to hang onto human relationships – indeed over time bits break off, and perhaps that serves to make space for new bits to gel into new poems, new relationships? I like this Yellow. It lures my thoughts to various associations with the color yellow … wondering if I ever wrote about any of those … and reminds me harshly of my angst when a database of family stories bellied up, leaving me only remnants stashed in memory. Indeed many bits had broken off!
LikeLiked by 2 people
It is a conundrum – what to retain, what to lose. As if we have a choice.
LikeLiked by 2 people
A lovely poem – this line struck a chord: ‘Where fraying begins and annotation dwindles to scrawled lines.’
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Derrick. Memory just frays away!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Indelible Yellow – stepsandpauses
I keep needle and thread handy, but unfortunately it’s not always successful. (K)
LikeLiked by 1 person
But you have a plan!
LikeLiked by 2 people
It’s all smoke and mirrors…
LikeLiked by 2 people
That may be enough.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It will have to do.
LikeLike
I like this line: “Each day more bits break off, never to be reattached.”
And then even the bruise is gone.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Some fade away so readily. Others, not so much.
LikeLiked by 1 person