The Color Collector

She was new.
She was quiet.
I think she was lonely.
That was the day I met Violet.

I was new once. I said hello.
She smiled a little, I think.
But she was quiet.

She lived near me.
We walked home the same way.
I was on one side, she on the other.

Always quiet.
Always alone.
Every day the same.
Until one day.

The day she picked something up.
The wind blew strong.
A red candy wrapper did somersaults.
It landed at her feet. It hugged her shoe.
Violet picked it up. The bright red wrapper.
Then it was gone. Disappearing into her backpack.

She looked up. She looked at me. She waved.
Then her eyes went down and she turned the corner.

She was always picking things up. I had never noticed it before. Now it is all I see her do.

Bright blue cookie wrappers.
Yellow pieces of paper.
Green bottle caps.

Red fall leaves.
All disappearing into the gray backpack.

One day, on our silent walk home, I am not so silent.
“What do you do with it all?”
“All of what?”
“The wrappers and trash and leaves.”

“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then follow me.”

“Just a little farther.” Up one flight of stairs.
Then another. And another.

The heavy door creaks open.
“This is my room.”

Here, in her room, the sun comes to shine.
It reaches in and makes her glow.
It makes her collection glow as well.

Each brightly colored wrapper, piece of trash, and speckled leaf has a place on her walls, her ceiling, her door. They are no longer forgotten bits blowing in the wind. Along her wall they are one.

They are her sky,
her beach,
her village.
They are beautiful.