Aged Ivory
- Billy Collins
- Jan 8, 2020
- 1 min read
Almost the light that allows for sight.
The sight the sparrow sees and sighs, but that’s not me.
I’m not quite white, nor brown.
What I am is the lightened coffee
so your day doesn’t start so bitter.
What I am is the aged page that has been read
one thousand times;
Not by choice but by force of teacher.
That same teacher handed you a cheap folder without pockets on the first day of school
to hold writing assignments.
That folder is my color.
What I am is the scorching sand you step and settle on
as you approach the sea.
What I am is skin,
easily turned red by the scrapes as you slide sprucely down the sidewalk.
Sidewalk chalk that is beige.
Recent Posts
See AllTight seat with tight belt. Through the window there’s invisible stars. Downwards, countless lights merge into one. All the footprints ...
Steam rises gently, Her hands dance with spice and love, Home tastes warm and safe. One bite of the rich And flavorful cinnamon, ...
Through the spring window is a bright burst of new green— great times are coming. The birds are singing, they are on their schedule—...