June Flash Lit #8 - Shades of Blue

Shades of Blue

My own eyes—

I can’t see them, except by indirection,

in a mirror that could be any color but

we call it silvery—

are blue,

blue like the sky, unless it is cloudy,

or night, or full of wind and rain,

blue like the water, except

when algae turns it green, or sand kicks

up in brown swirls, or oil slicks

the top of the white foam with iridescence,

blue like raspberry Otter Pops,

a color not found in nature and yet beloved

of small kids in baseball uniforms, also blue,

or white, or red, piped for contrast,

blue like the Easter eggs left

longest in the cup, fished out at last

with a copper loop that leaves a ring

of purple from the dribbles of red dye.

Maybe Homer would say they are

wine-dark, the Himba green, dogs, were they

to speak, gray.

Everywhere, nowhere blue.