Things the Leaves Are the Color of but Are Not

A poem, by me :)

On the drive home from Virginia, the leaves are the color of peaches but are not peaches. 
The outsides of peaches, 
The insides of peaches. 
Raspberries, grapefruits, 
dirty or clean, outsides or insides. 
I won’t insult you with oranges, but they are and aren’t that either. 
Of course, apples, etcetera.

They are but are not inside out clothes, rusted nails,
tea bags after tea has been drunk, 
The frosted glass bead necklaces my mom used to wrap around her neck and mine. 
Cherry lozenges dry or sucked, 
Neon bar sign on Sunday night. 
Old boots, gel pens, 
the smocked top dress I’m wearing in that picture of me on the backyard swing. 

Fingernail polish, any shade really,
Lip liner, and when it looks like you’re wearing lip liner because your lips are chapped. 
Old mirror, powder blush, rose scented shampoo (roses too, of course),
And ballet recital eyeshaddow palates. 

Strawberry ice cream, cooked chicken bones and don’t let the dog get those. 
Walnuts and the canker sores I get when I eat too many. 
Poprocks, raw pork, cherry pie, perfectly cooked salmon. 
I’m thinking about grapefruits again at the breakfast table and with the special serrated spoon. 
My great grandmother’s lipstick, I almost forgot. 

The underside of a cardinal, and his crested head too, 
Red clay dirt, cat eyes, my Aunt Lilla’s aura, 
The underside of clouds, every sunset ever. 

Wet blood, dried blood, blood blister, old bruise, old bones, open wound. 

My own brown hair,
My own face flushed after hard exercise,
My own green eyes,
My own crying eyes, 
My nipples, my freckles, my moles. The strange scar on the underside of my left breast. All my strange scars. 

The leaves are the color of these things but are not them. 
What are they, what are they? 
Stardust, dusk itself, silver, gold, duller metals, brighter stones,
fire and the low sinking sun in the rearview mirror? 
They are not these things! 

When you catch me looking at you it is because I adore you, and I am trying to figure out what parts of you the leaves are the color of but are not. 
The inside of your mouth, the tip of your tongue, 
Your smooth fingernails, the innner corners of your eyes,  
Your nipples, your freckles, your moles, 
Your rare blush.
I adore the leaves as I adore you.
When you catch me looking at you, I’m realizing that it's you that the leaves are the color of and are. 

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photo courtesy of high school me, circa 2015. it seems she always did have an appreciation for the leaves. my feet, which were included presumably to 10x the artsiness of the whole endeavor, have been cropped out. xx

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