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August 5, 2019 Poetry

New Hue

Caitlin Barasch

New Hue photo

You need to know
the world used to be softer.
This new color sharpens & blinds.

When it arrived,
people crashed their cars,
stumbled hands over retinas & then
over ledges, guardrails.

Those who survived were the ones
who reached for sunglasses on instinct,
assuming the sun’s strange light despite

being early January, eight p.m,
& winter is the absence of color & light,
is blankness, is universal achromatopsia.

False assumptions nearly never save lives
& yet

the new color isn’t
a variation on anything we know,
doesn’t reflect or absorb.
It has its own shade, gradient.
It reinvents the wheel.

A group of us are going out there—
we’ll locate it, wild;
we’ll hold it in our hands.


image: Laura Gill