Red is exploding firecrackers, blazing lanterns, matching spring couplets.
Rouge lips curving and faces flushing in frigid evenings.
Crimson envelops laden with money clutched in mittened hands.
The Chinese character for auspiciousness hanging upside down on doors.
ㅤ
Orange is autumn leaves slumbering on cracked asphalt.
Salty egg yolk filling spilling from mooncakes, sweet and sour fish teasing the tongue.
Warning signs for explosives as if life is not riddled with bombs of disappointment.
Lead pencils birthing worlds onto wrinkled pages and blank documents.
ㅤ
Yellow is shafts of sunlight drying the tears on my cheeks.
Smiley face balloons I dream of receiving from friends who forget my birthday.
Dollops of honey coating my beloved’s words, fingers, and lips.
Saffron flowers waltzing in the breeze, their confidence unbefitting me.
ㅤ
Green is eating grandma’s fried bitter melon after arduous homework sessions.
Four-leaf clovers I never find in fields of withered grasses and weeds.
Family heirlooms in the form of jade rings hugging my thumb.
Cacti looming in deserts with strength I could rarely muster.
ㅤ
Blue is braving the roads in my mother’s cyan Cadillac.
Cerulean sands falling in hourglasses, a reminder that I am no divinity.
Neon lights flashing in the arcade where my love defeated me in a racecar game.
Skies that stretch into other worlds, places I yearn to visit and start anew.
ㅤ
Indigo is dark hoodies and baggy pants shielding my body from predators.
Dark abysses of night, home to treacherous stars and their broken promises.
Tides roaring against the fragile shore, white noise competing with my tangled thoughts.
Sour blueberries whose flavor match the times when everyone left except for her.
ㅤ
Violet is the robe clinging to her scarred arms as she perches on a makeshift throne.
Purple buttons left undone to reveal her toned abdominal muscles.
Stories of gods and monsters exchanged in the twilit hours beneath mauve sheets.
Lavender roses on the countertop before her departure to assuage my woes.
ㅤ
Pride is a streak of seven colors connecting earth to paradise after a rainstorm.
Love is but a universal pursuit we all deserve, so why point fingers?
A crimson thread connects my little finger to the mortal rendering of my desire,
one with corded muscles, a lopsided grin, and rough-hewn features like a Greek statue.
© Written by Feifei Z (2020)
Feifei Z (张飞飞) is a Chinese storyteller and the keeper of Wheel-37, which is a megaverse of twelve realms that celebrates diverse communities reclaiming their power. When not indulging in her artistic projects, she enjoys listening to music from around the world, watching C-Dramas, and appreciating nature. Learn more at feifeiz.com and keep up with Wheel-37 on her Substack.