Colorblind
“The dead come back to life so unexpectedly.”
–Jane Yolen
For three years I’ve taught a boy like you–
Golden hair and blue eyes–
He even shuffles his feet while strolling the halls, ducking into the room
Just as the tardy bell rings.
His smile isn’t perfect yet either.
Another year in braces.
I’ve often rounded corners and run into Him
With your name upon my lips.
He favors black button-down henleys like you did.
It is Valentine’s Day and the halls are filled with flowers,
The scent still sweet from freshly-cut blossoms.
You once gave me a blue carnation
To remind me of your eyes,
How was it that I never understood what blue felt like
Until you touched me with your eyes?
And it took your fingers to describe a sky
To my skin.
It took your tears to let me feel rain
For the first time.
I had spent years beneath the sun’s halo
And never touched gold until
My fingers whispered through your hair.
A student coughs.
I blink and look at Him sitting at his desk,
The Him that I rename….
He is drawing anime figures.
A single rose lies across his desk,
Perhaps a gift from his girlfriend.
You taught me crimson, too–
A triumph Spitfire turned upside down,
Crushing the passenger seat where you’d been
Before the first of many somersaults.
You landed in a field of wild flowers
And kissed them with blood.
You must have looked pale against the brown earth.
Brown–I remember the smooth lacquered feel
Of your coffin as I touched it rolling past.
Black draped my skin, smothering me.
Grey clouds clung over head, threatening rain.
Green grass waved in colorless breeze at the cemetery.
Pink roses dropped into your grave.
You gave me the rainbow,
But my eyes were numb.
You alone must have known the secret
As you slept in earth
Where flowers first formed their rainbow dreams.
I stood with salted water blinding me.
Everything blurred until all
Shades became one huge smudge.
The bell rings and He scoots from behind his desk,
Disappearing amid all the other kids.
He leaves that solitary rose on his desk
And I stare at the scarlet cradled amid white
Memories of baby’s breath.
The emerald stem is dulled of thorns
And a golden ribbon ties a small pink card to the stem.
Cursive letters on the card say,
“I love you.”
(c) 2009 Maria Hooley. All rights reserved.
–Jane Yolen
For three years I’ve taught a boy like you–
Golden hair and blue eyes–
He even shuffles his feet while strolling the halls, ducking into the room
Just as the tardy bell rings.
His smile isn’t perfect yet either.
Another year in braces.
I’ve often rounded corners and run into Him
With your name upon my lips.
He favors black button-down henleys like you did.
It is Valentine’s Day and the halls are filled with flowers,
The scent still sweet from freshly-cut blossoms.
You once gave me a blue carnation
To remind me of your eyes,
How was it that I never understood what blue felt like
Until you touched me with your eyes?
And it took your fingers to describe a sky
To my skin.
It took your tears to let me feel rain
For the first time.
I had spent years beneath the sun’s halo
And never touched gold until
My fingers whispered through your hair.
A student coughs.
I blink and look at Him sitting at his desk,
The Him that I rename….
He is drawing anime figures.
A single rose lies across his desk,
Perhaps a gift from his girlfriend.
You taught me crimson, too–
A triumph Spitfire turned upside down,
Crushing the passenger seat where you’d been
Before the first of many somersaults.
You landed in a field of wild flowers
And kissed them with blood.
You must have looked pale against the brown earth.
Brown–I remember the smooth lacquered feel
Of your coffin as I touched it rolling past.
Black draped my skin, smothering me.
Grey clouds clung over head, threatening rain.
Green grass waved in colorless breeze at the cemetery.
Pink roses dropped into your grave.
You gave me the rainbow,
But my eyes were numb.
You alone must have known the secret
As you slept in earth
Where flowers first formed their rainbow dreams.
I stood with salted water blinding me.
Everything blurred until all
Shades became one huge smudge.
The bell rings and He scoots from behind his desk,
Disappearing amid all the other kids.
He leaves that solitary rose on his desk
And I stare at the scarlet cradled amid white
Memories of baby’s breath.
The emerald stem is dulled of thorns
And a golden ribbon ties a small pink card to the stem.
Cursive letters on the card say,
“I love you.”
(c) 2009 Maria Hooley. All rights reserved.
