First things first: I hate yellow.
I often get abuse from this opinion because yellow is supposed to be a happy color
But yellow is not a happy color.
Yellow is piss in the snow and too-bright sneezes.
Yellow is my ex’s stupid whispered name and dirty fingernails.
Yellow is pimples and smelly cartoon lines wafting lazily.
And yes, before you ask, the sight of mustard offends, though the taste reconciles.
Yes, okay, I hate yellow.
But there are some yellows I can stomach.
The effusive yellow light of a half-opened morning or late afternoon promises.
The deep, welcomed gold of a fugitive’s painted lines on a road to self.
The unexplained yellows of a blessed color associative mental disorder, these yellows that reveal themselves
only in songs or numbers or names.
And finally, (my favorite),
The softest yellow you can imagine, the most personal yellow you dare to ask for help,
The yellow of a single, cliché word:
It is this word and this word alone that forgives yellow—
Until, you say the color’s nosy, unwelcome friend: