The Color of the Light
Toward the rough rope ladder that will lead me up to the light.
But the light is blue and green and black and white and pink and blue (did I already mention blue? And black?)
What color is it, really? Can you tell me?
Even if I knew what color it was
and even if I wanted the blue or the green or the black,
my arms are too sore to pull myself up
and my chest is weak and full of holes.
My body has holes in it.
Actually, it is one big hole.
All the reasons and the logics that filled it are gone—they drifted away into the space behind me—because they heard from their master that she must be a hole right now.
Holes crumble in on themselves (especially black ones).
They pucker and suction and vacuum and suck in emptiness emptiness
The master says that she is a villain and in order to pay for it she must curl up around her gaping middle and doubt. She may not go forward and the past will not have her, either.
But you, Reason,
and you, Logic,
will go back to her one day
and show her what color that light really is.
- Naomi Bilmes
April 11, 2014
Sometimes, Sara Bareilles says it better than anyone.