c/o Sara McCrea

In this one the clouds are blue

and the sky is white and the flowers 

bloom taller than the trees. The houses—

like in Camazotz suburbia—are the same but

distanced, with the burning red bushes out front 

and the weeds sprouting in concrete cracks. In between 

paper and place: watercolors from my father, neighborhood

children playing “contagion” tag, birds in longing ears chirping

louder than before. This is what I paint when I am silent, but all

the colors never stay where I put them: black dots of snake eyes pool

together, a green arc of grass is stained by the slipping sun. In this open

I put down the shade umbrella, I bring the murky water inside, I resort to false

words whose corners break skin. I am grasping at rain, from whatever blue it comes.

Sara McCrea can be reached at smccrea@wesleyan.edu or on Twitter @sara_mccrea.