Eyes See What I See
Lips Who Am I?
Ear Find My Work
What’s Your Mood? What’s Your Mood?
CONNECT Talk to Me
Motley Hues


When he described the ocean to me as sea-green, I choked.

It is complex,




and he picked a hybrid of noun and color. A single color.

From an orgy of indigo and lavender and cerulean

he chose a single limb,

but who had the time to list the differences between his and my blue?


He asked after my distractions and I pointed up to the sky,

which he described again as purple.

I spat off the cliff.


He handed me a white tissue, which I turned yellow,

pushed it under his nose and said, ‘This is sea-green.’


He offered to take me home. The roads were unpaved, brown.

I’ve seen many beautiful things that are brown—mother’s eyes, dog’s fur, chocolate ice cream.

It hurt when all those things I remembered looked parched down the highway.

His own skin was brown, like mine, and we were both parched.


We stopped for water. I forbid him from calling it colorless.

He crossed his fingers to his heart.

I drank a few sips, became less toasty. He called me honey.

I felt lighter so I smiled. When he held my hands we blended.

Under the burning sky I forgot the browns and the glitters of liquid crystal.

I glazed out the window in a pink stare, which he called hollow.

I didn’t mind, I didn’t think ‘hollow’ was relative.

Every cloud was pink lips in brown lipstick, parched for a kiss.

If it rained, I wondered what color he’d call it. I didn’t think even I knew.