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by Luna McConnell

In the early morning of the summer,

Everything is blue, 

A stunning baby blue.

It must have something to do with the sun behind all those clouds, 

And the cold windows,  

And the silver cars slinking down my street,

The sleepy people inside them. 

They’re all blue,

Not a lonely blue, 

Or a sad blue, 

It isn’t tragic like the winter’s blue-- 

It’s a color so personal to this hour-- 

The minutes between sun and stars. 

It’s a blue so whole it makes me happy. 

These mornings remind me of my dad,

His crossed arms 

Facing towards the window.

I imagine he sees the blue too, 

And he is swimming in it, 

Arms out in front of him. 

He’s floating through our backyard, 

Soaking up the hue,

Becoming the bluest thing in sight. 

This morning, 

Before the boiling yellow sun, 

Is a sanctuary. 

A temple for the little red beetles, and the old dogs, 

The curious cats, and the homesick bumblebees. 

This blue- 

Is a hug, 

And a kiss on the cheek. 

This blue becomes the mother of anything cold or lost. 

This blue is my mother,

And her arms, 

Extended like my swimming father, 

Ready to wrap me up in a blue embrace. 

So they do. 

And now I am swimming. 

My brothers watch cartoons on the couch,

Bubbles erupting from their blue mouths, 

They are laughing so hard it makes me choke.

I chase the last bit of blue out through the back door, 

Up the alley,

Until it escapes through a gutter.

I wave goodbye to it and it smiles back at me. 

The world will go back to its sticky summer candy colors,

The oranges and greens.

It seems a long walk back to my house,

But I know it will be a good day, 

And the blue 

Will be back 


a note from the artist-

"This poem is about my favorite time of day, there’s something so quietly beautiful about transitioning from dark to light."

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