The Color Naming Committee was in session. Things were going well. They had decided on the big ones. Purple was the sound of a train leaving. Green was the wind you felt at the base of your neck. Orange was the feeling of a warm shower during a snowstorm. Specifically, the fog that gathered in the mirror. Yellow was rain, of course. And its drips from the gutters. Black was a leaf folding into itself. White was also the wind you felt at the base of your neck.
What about that, someone asked, pointing a finger above them. Birds dotted the high plains which to them, until that point, had just looked like the ocean about to fall. They pondered for hours. Until someone spoke up and said I’m not sure. But what will we do, now that we noticed it’s there?
José Felipe Ozuna was born in Guerrero, Mexico and currently lives in Minneapolis, MN. He graduated with a BS in sociology from Minnesota State University, Mankato. He is a 2022 Undocupoets Fellow. His poems are published/forthcoming in Poetry Online, HAD, River Mouth Review and elsewhere. You can keep up with his writing here: linktr.ee/josewrites