Crayola, brick red,
tearing open a new pack--
our favorite color.

Rebels, scraping, up,
indifferent to lines, down--
our favorite color.

Paper became ill fit
bodies became canvases--
our favorite color.

Our bodies, our tools,
crayons never left our side--
our favorite color.

She built a train track.
It only took seven years--
my favorite color.

"Follow the straight line"
Giving up on her sweet dream--
her favorite color.

I looked down at her
letting the brick red stick drop--
my favorite color.

It's in the casket,
but brick red forever is
our favorite color.