all innocent colours have to die again
Trees hold up their skeletons
Black fingers reach down
to fish their own ghosts in the swamp
Wild berries have fallen to the ground
Their blood has dried out
brewing the mellowest black in the mud
Do you know that if we mix all primary colours we will get black
A colour that lives on all colours
A colour with gravity that draws and engulfs
That explains why
when looking into a dead well
you are always tempted to fall freely
into its dark core
This poem first appeared in Black Poppy Review.
Sha Huang grew up in China and received her PhD degree in the University of Iowa. Her poems appeared in more than 20 literary journals and anthologies in China and the U.S, including Verse-Virtual, Trouvaille Review, The Wild Word, and Chinese and Western Poetry (中西诗歌). She also loves creating art. Her watercolour works were exhibited in Taicang City Gallery in China and the Art House in Acworth, Georgia. She currently teaches at Kennesaw State University.
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