The Color of Surrender

What color is surrender?

Is it the shade of violet the sky takes

At the end of day

The luminous blush that shifts and glows

As the sun traces a golden fingertip

Down her softly clouded cheek

And descends into the folds of Earth’s flesh?

Is it the color of autumn leaves

Clinging with their last ventricle of life

To the familiarity of mother tree

Ablaze with rage against the dying of the light,

Edges curling in crispy resistance

Like aged fingers wrapping scratchy shawls

Around thin-skinned, boney shoulders

In feeble attempt to ward off the cold

Uttering one last orange-red scream

Before departing to the ground?

Is surrender the color of dawn

The peeking, pale yellow of a distant star

As it blinks, yawns, and stretches stiff limbs of light

Reluctantly sliding a leg out of the blanket of night

To attend to its duty of awakening the world?

Or is surrender the tender pastel

Of the innermost petal of a virgin flower

That quivers as the others unfurl to expose her

Like a tight knot deep in a lover’s belly;

She yearns to be massaged and unraveled,

Made vulnerable

Her longing to be seen

Finally stronger than her fear of being open?

Or perhaps surrender is pure white

The color of light

As it passes through a dewdrop

That fearfully shook on the end of a blade of grass

Before its heaviness tore the meniscus

Like the seal of a womb

Experiencing its momentary, singular life

Before being returned to the ground,

To the ocean

Where it was made.

Surrender is the color of awakening

From a night well slept;

The hue of an exhale

From a breath long kept;

The tint of tears ceasing

From a sadness long wept;

Surrender is the color

Of pure,





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