This morning, at my personal blog, I claimed I was about to head to work.

Assorted chores and one shower later, I’m still about to head to work. But first, here’s my response to today’s prompt at Poetic Asides, which was to select a color for a title and then write about it:

Flute White

I am not an artist, so
to suggest a flute, I reach
for a gray or silver crayon

but here at Cafe EnVie
we breakfast below a fine painting
of a jazz musician. The keys

of his flute shine out, bright
in the Monday morning gloom,
white splashes of light

like Cheshire teeth gleaming
from dark green thickets. Like
a trill of sparks within
a moody solo. Like the fall

of water from our showerhead
that, not being an artist, I
would try to depict
as something transparent —

streaks of white in a painting,
or streaks of black in line art — only,
the way it falls reminds me how
notes swarm out of a virtuoso’s flute

like clouds of fireflies. Brightened
by the sunlight pouring through
the bathroom window, the water

strikes the tiles in a cascade
of gold and of tinsel, silvery
as the oil-paint white

keys of the flute above us,
as glittering as the note
that sounds as our glasses meet.

– pld