I pick up a crayon, thistle, reminding 
me of Eeyore’s favorite treat. Next I choose
dandelion, forest green, sky blue wisteria 
and tickle me pink. 
 
It’s another day at home, sheltered
in place. The sky outside is muted 
making grass look gray. 
I decide to start with a rainbow, to erase
 
stress and relax my roller-coaster 
mood. Ground myself - allow 
play to swipe time from the clock’s 
relentless tick-tock. 
 
My imagination takes to the blue heavens, memories 
flutter back to my first box of six 
thick crayons fitting in tiny hands. I carried 
them with me everywhere,  
 
loved coloring books, was always careful 
to color inside the lines. Sticking out 
my tongue, pressing it against 
the right side of my lip; deep 
 
in thought. Steady hand tracing 
along the side of the big black bold outline. 
My industrious mind — entire body — is completely 
engrossed in my work. 
 
A new school year brought new shoes, a Wonder
Woman lunch pail, and a new bright yellow 
box of twelve crayons, 
with carnation pink and indigo.
 
In third grade the supply list included 
the box of 24 and I fell in love with apricot
and cerulean. A box of 48 was mauvelous,
I used goldenrod the most. 
 
I remember when I got the big box, you know 
the one with the sharpener in the back? 
I broke some, sharpened scarlet and cadet blue
until one got stuck.
 
There is something about the slow drag,
of how the wax slides, and clings ever so slightly 
to the paper. Lift it and you hear a tiny 
smack, a dainty kiss that lingers.
 
I love how a broken crayon taped tightly 
can salvage a smile. I learned a broken 
tip can never be replaced, 
so be gentle. How adding the slightest 
 
pressure changes the hue. How paraffin 
and the pigment, and a hint 
of talc creates the texture. And no matter 
the variety, violet
 
will always be my favorite. 
How that smell makes me feel like 
I'm 8 years old again. There is still magic in 
how a box of wax, can transform into a rainbow.