This Shade of Blue

I don’t know what to do with this shade of blue. It’s sticky. It leeches to my fingers and now the cherries taste funny and I cannot eat them. Instead I eat this blue by the spoonful. It feels like cotton, like wool on my tongue and tastes like iron and honeysuckle: pain. My pain. Yours. It doesn’t fill my stomach but my chest. When I speak, a blue vapor escapes my lips and people look at me funny, as if they know. It is the blue of howl, dusk, a faucet dripping when you are too tired to turn it off. Concrete floors. Clouds. Collars. Creek. Echo. Funk. Somewhere, somewhere between a swell of ocean and the blue of lips. The seam of a uniform. Fading delphinium. Almost but not quite Parker’s bluebird, wavering along a minor chord. If I listen long enough it dissolves into a pale, pale grey, and thins, like a purse of lips, into grey lines that cage themselves around me. And I have only myself to blame.

Melissa I. Hassard


Recently accepted and published at vox poetica.  Thank you so very much, to Annmarie Lockhart of vox poetica.

Permanent link to work here.


12 responses

  1. Such exquisite sadness, breathtakingly beautiful, eerily calm in its hopelessness.

    My only wish is that everyone could hear the author read this poem as I have. It will break your heart.


  2. Besides being an incredible person, a wonderful mom, an astute businesswoman, a cherished friend and a phenomenal poet, our gal Melissa is now a !published! all-of-the-above, turning pain into beauty.

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