Member-only story
At the Crossroads of a Rainbow Bridge
Poetry
you wouldn’t see me, I don’t think —
or, at least, I’m not one you’d notice.
a red arrow could be pointing right at me,
but I would be as invisible as a mirage.
beauty is not my synonym, not my shade —
even with all these colors spilling at my feet.
taking a step from red to orange is perfect,
like the cycle of the sun from rise to set,
but the yellow makes me shy, aware,
right before I slide to green and then blue.
it’s at the indigo path that I stumble a little,
till you catch my arm and ask me if I’m all right,
and my heart quickens as my shoes stop on violet.
the bridge makes it easy, simple, if I want to walk away,
but you’re the crossroad, aren’t you, with that open grin —
right before you ask me what choice I want to make?
Originally published at https://vocal.media.
