Unexpected Encounter

Patricia Wentzel

Turning the corner,
I encounter my reflection
in a storefront window.

Dressed all in black,
I am a brooding galleon under sail,
an inky thundercloud,
a billow of ebony smoke.

Taught that dark colors
are best for those who
cannot call themselves trim,
I learned the lesson well.

Staring at my image,
taken aback, dismayed,
my brain hiccups to a stop.

I have no cause to wear mourning,
no reason to wear shame,
no need to wear shadows.

Tomorrow and the next day and the next
I will wear cyan
and saffron and cerulean.

Oh, to be a peacock blue galleon,
a crimson cloud,
a billow of chartreuse green smoke.