“might yellow mean daughter” by Angie Dribben

[might yellow mean daughter]

might yellow mean daughter

seed of the corn, bumblebee, pineapple, marigold
flaxen flight of the monarch
songbird: warbler: hooded, mourning, and Nashville

burden of cowardice, of fear, of betrayal
sour of lemons, liver-sick, infection on the roof of my mouth
the sound of yellow chasing it away: Ram Ram Ram
of ten petals, of fire, warrior, lustrous gem
arch of cobra pry mine open
four fingers breadth above the navel stirs the roar

when its valuable we name it gold
waters named and translated
last wild herd
is this the demarcation of compromise: color

yellow bellied, yellow throat: how did yellow get done this way
the color of fray, of worn, of dust gathered
of kept, of longing, the smell of no rain
candle’s flame burns too small to harm
the color of a father’s letters
yellow aging in a box, her corners split by time

Angie Dribben’s debut collection, Everygirl, a finalist for the 2020 Broadkill Review Dogfish Head Prize, is out with Main Street Rag. Her most recent work can be found in Orion, Coffin Bell, The Night Heron Barks, Cave Wall, EcoTheo, Big City Lit, and others.

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