Secondary colours

Secondary Colours.

 

Does she know her colours? demanded my school-ma’am aunt,

condescendingly, certain of my infant ignorance.

My mum assured her that I did, not without pride, I imagine.

What’s this then, dear?

Apparently, I gave a scornful glance, replied turquoise, of course,

as though any toddler could fail to know the colour of choice,

prized by Aztecs and the inhabitants of the Chaco canyon, inlaid in gold

in Tutankhamen’s death-mask, this chemical magic,

hydrous phosphate of copper and aluminium,

this exquisite shade, still my favourite.

 

Then purple: rhyme-defying purple, to be worn, allegedly by the aging.

Well, I do, quoting the poem to myself whilst dressing.

Regal mix of red and blue, though not any old blend of red and blue:

try making it from a palette of watercolours!

Tyrian purple from the spiny Murex, priceless,

reserved only for emperors, for Constantine and Justinian in Constantinople,

symbol of wealth and power, and mourning too,

the colour of lent, and in a warmer hue, of advent.

 

But orange! Bright zingy orange, fruit and marigolds,

sunsets and carnelians, amber and autumn..

A holy colour gracing Theravadan monks and Hindu swamis,

cannibalised, capitalised by the phone company.

Sinister Clockwork Orange, and more deadly Agent Orange,

still adding to the numbers of infant deformities

several generations after its terrible conception as legitimate

warfare use.

 

Secondary colours, neither this nor that, blending subtleties

and nuances, rainbow colours of prismatic light,

only approximately mimicked by artist’s pigments,

glorifying our stormy skies.

 

 

Published by Star Tips for Writers 95, May 2013

 

 

Done