Yellow
Brandon Cook
I am only writing this to remember that I was not looking for a sign
And only realized hours later, as I turned the lever and felt the rush of untested water which caught my breath, the surprise even worse than the cold blast on opening a shower door (such are the pains of all sudden absences)
That the yellow-breasted bird sat like a needle in the haystack of that brown, mottled wood
A coy reminder of something too quiet for words
A prophet whispering wordlessly, “yes, and keep moving forward”