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Blue


T Clear


If I say

I’m going to paint my house goat,

it doesn’t mean I keep a goat in the house

but that I’m going to paint it

a certain grey tone, found on page 57

of A Dictionary of Color,  ©1930.

Yet that would be a lie

because I already painted it starch,

or daphne, or maybe zenith, hard to tell.


Everything hinges on the light,

how lagoon becomes iceberg,

and virgin sheds innocence to afterglow

as a cloud conceals the sun.

Some mornings I awaken to opal

and come home to slag.

In a drizzle, king’s blue fades to peasant.

All so slippery.


I want to say that my house is Aphrodite,

that it’s Versailles and love-in-a-mist,

But that old goat keeps showing up,

stays the winter, lingers into July.

And here I am a year older.

T. Clear is a founder of Floating Bridge Press, and an associate editor of Bracken Magazine. Her work has appeared in many magazines, including Poetry Northwest, Raven Chronicles, Sheila-na-Gig Online, The Red Earth Review and The Moth. Her website is tclearpoet.com.