Q and A

What is the colour
of despair

It is the walls
which are cream
It is the screen
which is deep frayed red
It is the bed
white square

It shrieks from the pink roses on the corner
It plummets in green drips from the trees
It mocks from the orange wallet

Shakes its head
on the terrace
where early summer is a jungle
whose cartographer
has missed the ship
whose intricate maps
of the place
will be discovered in a strongbox somewhere
preserved from mould
and brought home with her bones