Blonde

Yellow like her sunshine hair

 

We called him yellow,

all because he would not jump,

not off a bridge or a cliff,

but out of the tree,

the old one over there,

the one now on fire.

He had class and grace,

the things everyone lacks now;

nobility allowed him to climb,

slowly but making progress all the same,

burning and scratching,

every limb on every limb on the way down.

He was yellow bellied,

the same yellow as his mother's hair,

she was a magnificent specimen,

she gleamed in the sunlight,

as she does now,

looking down on him,

seeing her son being ridiculed so harshly;

she closes the blind,

walking away from it all,

she will never turn back,

and her hair does not shine any longer,

never yellow or any color ever again.

A tear sheds from her eye,

knowing what she is doing,

knowing her beauty is gone,

knowing he is in good hands now,

and knowing she can finally be happy for once.