By Marian Glaser © (September, 2004)
To survive this sometimes bleak existence and resist
its insidious erosion, I need more affirmation than most.
Remembered, symbolic and real rainbows surround me,
helping me with their utter independence and objective
beauty to stay fully human even when treated as a thing,
an obstacle or ignored while workers amuse each other.
A CD lying on my computer desk splits light and reflects
a circular rainbow on the ceiling, reminding me of a story
told me about a circular one in China. People travel far
for its good luck. It complements my lucky bamboo.
Gas made rain puddles shine with colours. The acid greens
were deeper than any lawn, field or tree. I’ve seen fly wings
and pigeons’ throats iridesce in sunlight and daydreamed
about a forest pool full of swirling colours.
I have seen the Biblical peace message as a wedding symbol.
I hear songs where rainbows promise finds of love or money,
offering paradise in some improbable
future while I have it here, now,
in this rainbowed room when
my door is shut to exclude