August 23, 2024, Friday—Yellow Eggs.

Yellow Eggs

Eating scrambled eggs at 2AM
Can’t sleep
Too many books, the stories of men
the mad scientists who brought us all the wonders
The expensive  miracles
the cost, oh the cost, the 
Path littered with bodies 
because men don’t make bodies

I didn’t know their fixation with color, 
Thought women were the color lovers, but men
in white lab coats, the colors called them like sirens
Napoleon obsessed with a brilliant green made from arsenic,
Wanted it all around him
A color to die for, and he did 
Along with countless children chipping it off their toys and 
Ladies in their emerald green dresses. 

Carmine
Prussian blue
A mad scientist squeezing blood from countless insect wombs, 
Possessing no womb himself 
To get carmine
Makes a chemical error and it goes to blue
From there, his lab births cyanide, mustard gas, Zyklon B 
The blue stain on the bricks of the ovens at Auschwitz 

Thanks for fucking up my colors, men
No wonder I can’t sleep
Need to eat bright yellow eggs at 2AM
Roof raised, a woman lifted, 
to be our president last night
O please world
Will it be kinder, wiser, carefuller?
The wonder we need now.
Small wonder.

Okay, poetry over.

The book I began reading when I got in bed after Kamala Harris’ acceptance speech on Day Four of the DNC (and why I needed more stimulation I’ll never know), is aptly titled: When We Cease to Understand the World (more poetry right there), by Benjamin Labatut and has won a zillion awards. It really did a number on me. Finally, I gave up on sleep, made scrambled eggs and wrote this poem.

On that note, I’ll sign off with the usual invite to browse my originals gallery, browse prints, and sign up for my monthly newsletter.