“Orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow.” 
Wassily Kandinsky

My daily drive includes a glimpse 
of that orange mailbox.
A wan orange, the shade of melting 
sherbet, or that persimmon, plastic 
coffee cup, stained inside that Daddy
refused to relinquish for a new mug.

This familiar mailbox makes me
lighthearted, with a smile smoothing
the deep furrows of fatigue. Someone took 
their daily drabness and painted a melon
shade on the box that invokes images of
traffic cones, clown fish, amber, fall leaves,
Cheetos, life rafts, Halloween, and Tigger.

If I allow myself to recall those kitchen 
cannisters from the 70s, my mouth fills 
with regret. Orange knobs on top of those
cannisters were the exact shade of this
mailbox. As those peach phantoms fill
my mind, a spectral scent of gingerbread 
baking wafts through today’s worries.

Passing the mailbox, I note this box never 
gapes open, a neglected, forlorn object that 
reveals interior wounds and betrayals. It stays
an apricot beacon stalwart against the ravages 
of lost loves, missed moments, and unwritten 
letters.