Finding Rainbows

Years ago
before the dirt road became
a hardtop,
I spent hours
kicking dusty black sand around
searching for fragments of
colored glass.

Later on my bed
with blackened ankles hanging off
I played a private game
deciding what they
used to be:
a jar of face cream, a bottle of children’s laxative,
cough syrup.

I remember

Each time I found them,
a rainbow
arranged as I wanted
kept in my dresser drawer
in a baby food jar,
under my underwear.

I still pick up broken colored glass
when I see it on my walks. 




  1. Dear Ptc,
    This is beautifully written and brings the reader in right away. I loved this. Of course, as I type this reply to you, I’m getting ready to scoot back for a 2nd or 3rd reading. You’re an excellent writer! Your poetry is top-notch quality. Thank you for blessing your readers with such quality work.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ptc,

    That fascination with glass…the imagination,
    and the quiet pleasure of the find, the keeping,
    and then the poem. This tale of a childhood
    pleasure reflects a poet’s mind and shows
    how poems are born. It is as if those bits of glass
    existed so that this poem would. Again you remind
    us that no single event is separate or apart from
    all the other events of our lives. I love the fragments
    of glass and I love how they show bits and pieces of the poet.

    BTW, when my sisters and I would come in from a day’s
    play with feet as black as the dirt, our Mother would say
    we had the ‘stove pipe disease’.

    Your poem is a kaleidoscope. It is a great pleasure to
    see its bloom.


    “I remember

    There is a joy in that line, an exuberance that bursts forth.
    Great to experience…thank you!


    • This is so very evocative of childhood days and I truly, truly enjoyed the read; thank you.

      May you long keep picking up those pieces of broken coloured glass.



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