I always choose yellow, because it excites me,
but not when it ripens into a bruise,
the brightening of the sky so enticing,
the bleeding below the surface of a limb not so.
I have seen the ochre tinged stirrings
of a curried cauldron, a mother’s cooking.
a shock on white china, and amber stare,
telescoped from another continent,
and the strands, so valuable, pressed
in a golden red O, so beautiful behind plastic,
a stained glass window breathing like
a monument, waiting to be opened.
Flower centred, the blessing of yellow,
a promise circled to contain, yolked,
I have seen life visible, an artefact
of light, on a river’s mirrored edge.
Ali Jones is a teacher and mother of three. Her work has appeared in Fire, Poetry Rivals, Strange Poetry, Ink Sweat and Tears, Snakeskin Poetry, Atrium, Mother’s Milk Books, Breastfeeding Matters, Breastfeeding Today and Green Parent magazine. She has also written for The Guardian.
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