COLOR THERAPY

IVANNA BARANOVA

tell me about your day
mariana
about the song you shazamed
on the grocery store radio
the spilled bottle
that soaked the concrete floor
in a color
you called cerulean
tell me
about the sauna
the baseball game
the blackhead strips
the incremental growth
in your backyard garden plot
mariana
i’m watching the moon
from the concrete floor
of this city park
the air is getting cold
but i’m calibrating
with a can of seltzer
cause for better
or worse
i always run
unbearably pink
and hot
i can’t remember
the last time
i looked at the sky
forgot how effortlessly
the clouds move
like without force
or premeditation
drifting in unison
then dissipating
into small abandoned dots
i spent an hour searching
for the most plush and verdant grass
where i could go to be with you
but it all just turned up dry
mariana
i don’t need good
only better news
i’m stuck in old patterns
and don’t see an out
once i thought i was moving
but it was only air
passing through me
breaking me apart
like these estranged
vapor clots
lost to heaven’s
lonely cognitive activity
down the hill
lo-fi bachata
blasts sentimental
about the interminable
fantasy of modern love
tonight these songs
emancipate the tireless generator
of my debilitating thoughts
it’s a sensation i didn’t plan for
this useless certitude
dissolving from my gut’s
habituated knots
i always remember not wanting
to be a person in the crowd
participating reluctantly
under infinite spasms
of tiny flashing lights
cotton candy boys
soliciting my emotional involvement
amidst an electric throng
of passing people animals
and moths
mariana
you are only a symbol
but still i did a double take
when i thought
i saw you there at dusk
it’s just i can never shake you
from my intrapersonal involvements
and this music is so loud
so copacetic
it pins my head
in a terminally romantic lock
altho it embarrasses me
to say so
the hot pink sunset
you missed
was more spectacular
than any hallucination
our love
has wrought
now in the aftermath
the clouds are fading
against the atmosphere
in a color
i can only describe

Ivanna Baranova is a poet living in Brooklyn and the author of CONFIRMATION BIAS (Metatron Press). Her work has appeared in Blush Lit, glitterMOB, Hobart, Newest York, Peach Mag, and other places.