Yellow
Ochre egg yolk drips
Off skinny bread strips,
Thick flaxen globules,
Like leaves shedding
Their green coats.
This bright childish hue,
One of the primaries
From which all colours
Birth, flowers in nature.
Daisy discs in florets,
Gold-dusted meadows,
Horned daffodils, all
Waiting the zippy flight of
The buff-tailed bumblebee.
As kids we held up tiny
Buttercups to our chins
For the ultimate test:
“Do you like butter?”
Grandmother’s porcelain
Dish keeps it cold, solid,
After the spreading time.
With no alarm, streetlights
Bathe the early morning,
Sharp sting of cut lemons,
My acidic wake-up call.
Sunflowers turn their heads
To chase the new sun
Spilling from the sky,
Cast like golden rain
On these bread strips
I keep dipping.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 25, 2020
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