Yes, this, this is the color.
The color of her tiny bed sheets,
because no one expected it would be a girl.
The color of his model airplane
that he builds himself, with balsa wood and Elmer’s glue,
and launches off the roof directly into a puddle.
The color of his breath
at the end of the first date
as they sit, limbs entangled, on the porch,
when all he wants to do is kiss her.
The color of their souls
as they walk along the windswept tides
of the ocean, after the sky has been cut open
and has fallen in deliberate wrath,
with a thin line of foam marking the former height of the water.
The color of the porcelain
they are given on their wedding day,
that they didn’t register for
but her sister thought looked quaint,
which they almost use the day he gets his diploma,
but it never makes its way down from the high cupboard.
The color of Carolyn’s sneakers
on her first day of kindergarten
at the big public school down the street,
as they say farewell to her at the door
with poorly concealed emotions
flying out of their grasping fingertips
they watch her skip into the void, unafraid.
The color of her smile
as she looks out at the dunes they used to traverse together
recalling his twinkling eyes the day he asked her to dinner,
the way he sang to little Carolyn,
his infernal habit of leaving the kitchen light on to attract moths,
how his mind stayed sharp when his body went numb,
and the way he used to place his fingertips
on the small of her back just to remind her he was there.
Hannah Berman likes singing more than talking and really would like to be a Disney princess some day.