a poem a day for a year #306

by Amy Turn Sharp


I once followed a Scandinavian boy off a subway because of his eyes. They were the exact color as a Cornflower blue crayon and I couldn't be stopped. At the corner he turned around and I raised my hand like an old friend, like a pal. He smiled. I have no problem with instant necessity. Every November I find the year heavy on my shoulders and want to take off like my name is Steve McQueen and I'm the king of cool. I'd walk right up to you and we'd go to Tahiti. Haven't you always wondered about Tahiti? Don't you want to say the word azure and mean it? If you cut me open I'm blue not red.