Why Poets Wear Black
from a poem by Josh Borgmann
Melissa Frederick

You were right on one count:
Black is the only color in the world,

because inside that tub
on the watercolor strip, the block
with no white spot
in the middle, no scar
rubbed bald by loving brush,

lies
every wavelength of light
from long red lines of peppermint
lolled slowly around the tongue,
to a quick whiff of violet
perfume on a warm brown wrist.
Most dont realize

black and white
are the same shade
with different attitudes. White catches

light on the pop fly and instantly
launches it toward home. White explodes,

while black
sifts through the universe with a tin pail
clutched in both hands, considers
every red giant and gold
beetle wing, then presses
it all into the rarest of wines, the sweetest
distilled drop. Thats why

poets wear black: we purify

life for the eye, so no locust shell,
no cobweb and no finger kissed
by rivulets of melting cherry vanilla ice cream
will ever be missed.