24 Percent and 93 Cents

Evelyn Elmer

What can go behind a green glass door?

Let me give you a hint,

sapphire can but God knows fuchsia can’t,

so I batter at the glass until my fists bruise thinking the violet marks that develop make me look tough—

make me fit in better—

but accepted can and outsider can’t.

And I think I’ll be okay when I finally learn to breathe in a crowded room

without worrying I’m wasting precious oxygen for everyone else,

without holding myself in until my face turns blue.

(Blue as a forget-me-not,

Blue as the sky,

Blue as the moon,

Blue as the sea that covers 75% of the world you can see from it,

Blue as the 75% of the world I see outside my window.)

And if I grasp that quarter between my two pink fingers,

after I found it shining abandoned in a storm drain,

would I have as much as you?

Do you see the double entendre yet?

Here’s another hint:

Blessed is the Baby Boy’s blanket that’s Blue.

Listen now—blessed can go through that green glass door.

Do you see the pattern yet?

#best written work of 2022