'Colour Inside The Lines'
Poem By Sarah Eve
Previewing these dusky moments
You, little mouse, scrimmage for under table crumbs
I rarely sweep my tiles
They are so perfectly aligned
I hear screams for labels and boundaries
And criss-crossing my contradictions I laugh
At such restrictions
I sweep my crimson crayon past the lines each time you watch over my shoulder
Sitting in my belly now
Wondering of how allowances are made
To dust horizon’s edge without dipping
down the ocean’s floor
I am a wanderer
Never settled anywhere but in quiet contemplation
Only thoughts do I call home, and home sweet moan,
I cannot stop unless to think.
Journeying the skyline
And the edges of my paper
Snowy television screens scream of what I should yet could not be
Is this defiance or conformity you preach?
Yes, I am a wanderer
Of this I both fear and flame
Hands will never run together
Like the paint within their frames
I cannot box it neatly into these lines …these lies
If I am unkind I mean no harm
We are all armed with heavy words
But among such forces I will not climb
My dearest treasures
My most sacred loves
Are found between the silences
Swimming in the peripheries
They run in the streets without staircase language
And in the empty spaces no one cares to frame or term.
Found within the mysteries of swirling overlaps
Freer as they sleep inside the sidewalk cracks.