I was five when I asked my mother,
while holding a box of crayons,
"What color is me?"
She smiled and explained I was the color yellow;
radiant and life giving.

I grew, and grew, and when I was ten I asked my mother again,
"What color am I?"
She leaned really close.
Looking me up and than down.
"Blue," she spoke.
"The color of the skies and sea's.
Vast in wisdom and deep with honesty."

When I was fifteen
and started to come into myself,
I asked my mother again,
"What color am I this day?"
She looked at me, reading me as if I was  book.
"Red. You are the color red.
Unshakable with passion but uncertain in your strength."  

The year I turned twenty, my life was barely beginning.
I was filled with such trepidation about moving away from my family.
I asked my mother, standing in the threshold of our home,
"What color am I now?"

My mother paused in her answer,
her eyes seeing something I never would or could.
A smile spread on her tired face,

"My darling little girl,"

She spoke touching my cheeks.

"You are the color of the sun, yellow; radiant and life giving.

You are the color of the skies and sea's, blue; vast in wisdom and deep with honesty.

You are the color red; unshakable with passion, and most certain in your strength.

My bright and shining daughter,
you are a rainbow for all to see.