PURPLE SCREEN DOOR
“Why purple?” You ask
screen door banging behind you.
“Purple is for passion.” I say.
Passion for the cool sweet taste
of tall sweating glasses of ice tea
rivulets running down the sides
pooling on old linen napkins
ironed and folded into smooth squares.
Passion for Chopin and Copland
Rachmaninoff’s rhapsody on a theme
fingers dancing across creamy ivory keys
playing on a polished piano
rubbed well with pungent lemon oil.
Passion for small smelly children
sporting mud smeared shirts
just come in from the yard
smacking liquid kisses
moist warm little circles.
Passion for written words
on pages of well worn books
friends to be read aloud to another
or who quietly sooth the soul
tirelessly in timeless wisdom.
Passion for pure love
succulent with fluid
flowing as rivers
rushing to the sea
then joined in
as deep as purple.