Bio Note: I’m Heather Pease, a survivor and poet. My poetry centers on mental health, feminism, self-acceptance, healing, and aims to make people think about subjects often stigmatized through society. My favorite word is "Meraka", which means to have passion, to put it in your work. My first book is Out of the Weeds, my work has also appeared in various print anthologies and lit journals. I live in Orange County, California.
The Bright Yellow Box
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.
©2021 Heather Pease
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