Under the mosquito buzz of the ward lights, 

his grandmother turns to me and says:

“I bet those colours taste amazing.” 

 

She says this between slurps of pea soup,

And bites of beige biscuit.

Slowly working on becoming accustomed to her new home. 

 

I bet that lime green tastes like the summer days of your youth.

 

I hope the yellow still melts on your tongue, 

and mixes with the red of your gums.

And the taste of orange appears; 

citrus fresh and full of sunshine.

 

You ask “What does blue taste like?”

And I stop. Shocked. 

I don’t know…

 

How does one describe the taste of the sky? 

How can I describe the the pools of your Grandson’s eyes?

 

I tell you…

“I guess it tastes like the drops of rain that fall from the sky”…

Those ones that you catch in your mouth 

That set free triumphant yelps on each splash of success.

 

But I know. 

That this blue tastes like the salt from his tears that never spill. 

 

You smile. 

Content.

With my little description… 

of the taste of colour.