I walked, not a country mile or a city block, but a suburban court today while talking to my old roommate, K. I chose the color orange to pay attention to. Overtime I found it hard to tell if something was orange, or red with a glare, or peach, or yellow. The hydrangeas were clearly blue, though. Here is my list:

Headlights on a truck, lights on many parked cars
A house
A brick fence
Flowers in a front yard (lots of them, and different kinds– cool ombre clusters, but weirdly I didn’t see any California poppies).
The lining of a car covering
Kumquats (? – some type of small bulbous fruit)
An opened and crumpled bag in someone’s garage (dog food perhaps?)
A basketball hoop
A rainbow pinwheel – though I didn’t necessarily notice the orange, I concluded it must have had some orange in it. It was really windy today so all the colors blurred together.
A mini traffic cone by someone’s front door
A prior year’s car sticker covered up hastily by a new one
A birdhouse
Leaves on the ground
Some eggs on an Easter egg wreath on a front door
My house (though I know it’s technically peach, it felt more orange by the time I got home) and the birds of paradise in the front yard
a dancer makes her way across the floor
barefooted.
carefully she
drops, dips, sinks into the blackened harlequin
effaced
floor.
given her tendency to
hold on to what is hers, it seems
impossible that she can get back up. but
just as the sun rises
kicking up,
leaping,
maiming,
now
on
pointe, her bloodied toes can swallow, though their desires not
quelled. a
rond de jambe traced on her back
so carefully
that,
understandably so, the
visage of her being
wanes into the center. an
x marks the spot, and the dancer has missed it.
you know she won't next time, or else she will be reduced to
zero, like seafoam settling to the ocean floor.

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