The Yellow Scale by Frantisek Kupka |
Yellow
always catches me by surprise –
Every spring, like Persephone, their
patron saint, the jonquils and daffodils resurrected
in my grandparents’ bottom pasture, their
lemony hue glistening in the sunlight,
a spot of distant brightness amidst the green swirl.
As a child I ambled through the tall,
swaying grass, as children are wont to do,
stooping occasionally to pick an errant
pink primrose,
the ubiquitous wildflower we call buttercup in the South,
breathing in the velvet petals until
they stuck to my skin, the stamen sprinkling dusty freckles of
pollen
across my nose, nimbly dodging the bumblebees flitting from bloom to bloom,
a certain method to their seemingly careless flight,
their back legs encrusted with that
same saffron pollen which they scattered to the hungry
breezes as canary-colored butterflies, diaphanous-winged,
swooped in delicate
arcs through the warmed air.
On those radiant spring days,
my life stretched endlessly before me,
and, having
not yet flown too close to the unforgiving sun,
my own fragile, new-feathered wings
still intact,
I knew nothing of impending loss.
Donna Cozart Pauley, Top Honors, Friendswood Library
Donna Cozart Pauley was born in a town of 200 in the
rolling hills of East Texas. Born into a
family of prolific oral storytellers, she learned the art herself at the knees
of her ten grandparents, telling her own stories in both prose and verse. She has been teaching English at Alvin High
School for the past 22 years and is currently working on her PhD in literature
at the University of Houston. Just like
those silent trees falling in the forest, words only matter if they’re read or
heard, so she has devoted her life to the written word.
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