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Periwinkle
Don’t know that I was on the spectrum, no,
But I was weird. I read too much and played
Pretend too much. My mind too often strayed
To places so interior they’d glow
With something strange and Christmas-y, a slow
And simple light, its luminance deep-laid
With resonances primal, ready-made.
The very simplest thing and off I’d go:
My periwinkle crayon (on the day
I memorized the box). Its dulcet blue
Within the creamy wax enfolded me
In something good and beautiful and true
That held me there yet pointed far away
And touched the summer with eternity.
.
.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
Dear Jeffrey,
This is a delightful poem that gives me a visual of a kaleidoscope – seemingly simple, yet, when looking within, complex and beautiful. Thank you for this lovely periwinkle view.
Gigi
My magic crayon in my day a long time ago was Magenta, likely before the advent of your new color. I can imagine the effect of Periwinkle on your imagination as you mentioned in your poem.
Your vividly descriptive sonnet conveys a moving and powerful message
about the young, imaginative, intelligent child or youth that gets labeled
“weird”~~often by those who are not as smart!
Your lovely sonnet took me back to the 1960s, when my grandparents kept a box of crayons (sharpener included!) at their house for my visits. Colors like periwinkle and wisteria were so special to me that I used them sparingly. Thanks for the read, Jeffrey.
A child’s voice among many colors, searching for his unique place “on the spectrum,” if he has one. This is almost psychedelic, Jeffrey, but so is human individuality. Are we not all “ready-made,” not in the sense of factory crafted according to a common design, but with some “primal resonance” displaying the good and beautiful and true? Those three transcendentals move the poem out of the crayon box and beyond. Naturally the “pointing far away” happens in the summer, when children have so much leisure it may seem unlimited. Excellent reflection for the time of year!
Thanks so much, everyone. The poem was, in its way, one of the most personal pieces I’ve written, and I wasn’t entirely sure it would “land”. So I took great comfort in seeing how it resonated with you. Thank you again. And Margaret, a special thank-you to you for finding it psychedelic. (Grateful Dead echoes, no doubt, from my wayward youth…). Hope all is well, Jeffrey
This is a wonderful poem that reminds me of my childhood. The final two lines are my favorite. They capture the heart of the poem so well, blending the promise of the eternal with the simple pleasure of the present. For me these lines evoke an image of a dawn on the horizon that shines with the warmth and possibility of long sunlit summer days and symbolize a tantalizing taste of the spiritual that is waiting to mingle with the material.
Thanks for this, Jeffrey. As kids we all want to belong. Our parents also pressurise us to fit in, so it’s refreshing when children, especially, find their own paths.
I loved the duality of the word ‘spectrum’, with the narrator finding his place somewhere on the blue wavelength!
Or is it the indigo or violet wavelengths? Even more intriguing.
I’m convinced I was/am “on the spectrum,” too, so this poem really struck me. It’s very intimate, and an apt description of the interior world of those with an active imagination. Your use of the periwinkle crayon as a link between the physical and that interior world I think captures perfectly the workings of such a mind.
When I was young, there was nothing I wanted more than the Crayola box with a good 64 colors, periwinkle among them. My favorite was raw sienna. Or was it raw umber?