for the yellow lady and KB
Her god is sunflower yellow,
the color space in the spectrum
a deity might surf—a god
of dandelions and honey,
darkening to the amber
of petals when they fade.
He says, with cynicism,
if there is a god, he is plaid,
crossbarred and patterened,
tangled in a looming
of dropped threads and sarcasm
spun faster than Clotho spins life:
That we are measured and cut is given,
but by what rule and whose scissors?
I say god, go(o)d, goddess–
however one addresses
the maker of all flowers
is the toddler my daughter was,
naked and fingerpainted,
her skin rainbowed like no promise
ever arced after a flood,
in the midst of the glorious mess she made
and laughing because of it.
We are painting with palettes over at dVerse today. Time for me to be off to work, so am sharing this earlier poem that kind of meets the prompt.