Colors of Sprinkled Cake
Inspired by Petra Cortright’s “GOLF III harlequin” (2020)
The mustard rock descends from its ledge,
And like a warrior battling at a bloodied melon edge,
It smacks the lake whose tendrils disrupt the jagged shapes
That bubble out from the water’s murky wakes;
Their clashing rage vexes the verdant vines
Which dance and rise
In an inferno of green, blue, red lines.
But when they converge with the sky
—which hums its sweet lullaby—
The madness dies away,
For as blue blends to gray,
As playground meets home,
Slumber dominates the tornado of tone.
Though the delicate whites,
Bright as lights,
Journey farther still.
They rush high, then, satisfied,
Caress the ancient hill,
It is dirtied brown
like the ground.
Yet still one, two, the brave, the few
Sniff more up the gradient of hue.
And now, mere wisps,
They yell, “Let’s gaze around!”
Gasping with open lips,
They nearly plummet down
—the thither storm from which they came
Taints their beloved game.
Yet the hither peaks, with their great physiques,
Return their vibrant streaks.
Their eyes, widening, follow the lilypad trail
Back to their pond at the pace of a snail,
Noticing the tranquil clouds of lemon flowers
Budding from long-legged stems, almost as straight as towers,
And the mustard rock and the swirls in the lake,
Forming galaxies the colors of sprinkled cake.
Coming back to town,
The couplet coo a faint sound:
“Oh, uncertain whirlpool
in a violent duel
Stop acting like a fool!”
Their frame continues to wane,
But they mock and laugh, frozen in this dazzling flame!