To Step into the Light
Gracie Marsman

Blue thread weaves its way in and out, in and out.
More colour is needed for me to find my way.
So, I poke a hole with needle and thread,
and red comes spooling from my fingertip.
I smear it on my jacket and smear it on my tongue.
It tastes like copper.
It coats my mouth abrasively.
I swallow but my mouth tangs like dissonance.
The colour maroon is caked on my fabric.
No one will notice.
I wear bold in and out, in and out—
Red feels good to me in measures right now.

93