My soul is the color blue.
Not dark blue like the night sky, and not light blue like the day sky.
The color of tropical water blue, with a little bit of green.
It’s the second gradient of blue on the east shore of Lake Tahoe, where the lake bottom is still visible but you cannot stand.
In a box of Crayola crayons, you can find it.
Not a small pack, though.
This color lives in a 96-crayon box.
In my crayon box, just look for the smallest one.
You might have to peek into the little cubbies to find it; hiding, resting until the next time I take it out.
It’s name, as given by Crayola, is Cerulean.
Over the years, I have come to love and accept this name,
perhaps for lack of a suitable substitute,
or perhaps because it starts with a soft ‘c’ and ends in ‘ean’.
The name conjours an image of a small island off mainland Greece,
with all the tans and whites and greens to offset the majesty of the Cerulean Sea.
It sparkles of blue green.
Calls you in to take a drink,
take a dip,
take a dive.
Here lies my soul,
as a bubble that starts at the sea floor.
It dislodges and slowly rises up to find the light.
It bursts and I am nothing and everything floating on the sun-warmed water.
Until another bubble is formed down deep and I start the journey anew.
Real Deep Shit 