Cerulean

I remember the smell of my paper box of Crayolas.

I remember sometimes having a sharpener on the back.

I remember it was my favorite.

I remember trying to save it for last, but it was too beautiful.

I remember rotating the edge to wear it down slower. Evenly.

I remember the wax smear on white paper, and I’d dab at it to try and feel what favorite felt like.

I remember it was my skies, my oceans, and my self-portrait’s shirt.

I remember I couldn’t first pronounce it. I think that was part of its intrigue. It was that rare combination of consonant loopholes and crowded vowels I learned to read.

I remember that feeling powerful.

I learned it was first Caeruleum.

I learned it derived from “heaven” in Latin.

I learned it was Monet’s smoke puffs and Morisot’s ladies coat.

I learned it flies in Indonesia and South America.

I learned it was chosen for the UN’s symbol because “it’s the opposite of red, the color of war.”

I remember it's always been the color of peace.

I learned you can’t write your name in Cerulean.