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August 25, 2017

BlackEyedSusan:photo by SusanKirschbaum(**Words written and copyrighted by Susan Kirschbaum/Photo of “Black Eyed Susan’s”  by  the author, shot today on the fly.)

I never wear yellow.

(Maybe I’m too prideful.)

But it speaks to me.

Like the sun and all I could imagine eternity to be.

There’s a black eyed version of yellow.

That has borrowed my namesake (perhaps to reflect my cynicism.)

And the pastel hope in my mother’s face.

In our darkest hours.

Reflects a certain innocence that keeps me moving.

There is no alternative in its wake.

Another hue.

Not yellow.

But waves of gold.

True love.

Such warmth of smiles we reserve,

He and I (only) for one another.

My, what secrets we keep.

For where does this path lead us?

Dorothy said. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

Yet Oz was imaginary.

Behind the curtain, they found a man with feet of clay.

When his walls came down.

The possibilities were endless.


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