Colour poem: Purple
Purple is afraid
it scuttles into corners
on all fours
it reeks
it shrieks
and smells of old unopened rooms
it is the flickering eyelid
of an aging actress
and the veins
mapped on leaves
of frail plants
in nursing homes who suck thin air
Purple is chiffon dusk
compline and pale prayers
it is reading aloud
the twenty-third psalm
the noise of ragged breaths
clawing the air
a scratching away of calm
Purple is the gas
that killed Plath
and the depth
of her despair
it is the click of the valves
that stuck and the blood that cooled
Purple is profane
it never gives back
it hoards
it preserves grief
and bottles tears
Purple is half the world
and the side of me in shadow
poem by Philippa Lane
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