Blue – by Amelia Walker

 

The first blue I knew was blood.

Later there would be skies and oceans,
eyes and sapphires, petals, ink, plastic lids
of pens my teachers said, don’t chew.
The skin-ripple of a hushed tattoo.

The blue of singers, songs, the sounds
and shoes, jeans, dresses, uniforms
I wore reluctantly, eyeliner brandished with glee.
There would be bruises. Planets. Marbles.

But first, the blood.
And when we cut ourselves we rust.
A kind of blossoming, a bloom
of buds unfolding just to die.

We are fields of roses, yes,
in lips and finger tips, the speckled light.
We could not be fire were we not also smoke.
Could not be red without the blue.

The first blue I knew was living.
The first blue I knew was blood.

 

 

 

Amelia Walker is a South Australian writer. She works at a university and lives near the coast.

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