SHE WORE YELLOW
She wore yellow on a dark day.
Though it was summer, her flowing yellow dress,
yellow beaded sandals, yellow disposition—all seemed
out of season, so wrong that we had pity on the poor
girl, just nineteen, fresh and wearing a smile so welcoming
even when she had no place yet to welcome anyone into.
The yellow in her smile, the yellow in her step was admirable;
we wished we had some of that yellow too, but we were
leery in fear of the storm while she floated above our heads
and listened to the sounds of traffic and rambling on the
highway like music to her ears. She would not come
down, even when the rain came. We watched from our
houses, safe behind the windows—through which
we saw the clouds and they saw us, but neither could
touch the other—and she was in the middle of it all.
Thunder pounded at our sanity, at every flash of lightning
our dogs barked, our children cried, even we shuddered;
she didn’t seem to mind. And when it finally hit the yellow
girl in the air, she only glowed.
Why do you like to write poetry?
Abbie Minard: “I write poetry to find the beauty in the mundane. I think words, when used properly, can make even the simplest pieces of furniture appear grand and inspiring.”