Kite on a breeze

“I identity as Red,” she said

and I wonder at the lengths we go

to escape whatever it is we have been

to get to a place we still don’t fit anyway.

“And I am Blue,” said another, as I mentally

kicked myself for not jumping in with that,

as surely if there was a color personality,

mine is Blue. Not trendy or sky blue or

sea blue or night blue but some amalgam,

like a grease spot depending on the angle.

The man nearby was Green and sat still

like a tree. He was part of a forest

and I love the forest but am not great

at identifying trees by name, though

I feel their presence sure as any person.

Some other women were chatting about

being Yellow or giggling about being White,

one even stoically claiming Grey.

He was quite still, his leaves ruffling

softly in the breeze, waiting to see

which bird would rest in his branches.

I am flying a kite on the breeze

and will only get tangled in branches

so I stay removed, reluctantly.