Duh normies, we are told, dream in black-and-white. How psychological researchers can know this I'm not sure, but that's what they tell us. When I remember dreams, they often focus on color!
Today's dVerse prompt asked for poems that mentioned three different colors, while the Poets & Storytellers United asked for poems about memories and dreams. So...
A stuffie duck in cyan blue
once floated through a fever dream.
Black and white I remember, too,
on pinions--how they seemed to stream
out from my arm when later flu
put feathers, not flight, in the dream.
I might have seen on store's display
the frankly frumpy dress a friend
would buy when in the family way.
A dream she might have tried to send
("Are close friends psychic?" we would say)
showed avocado dress she'd mend.
And often dreams take place outside
and show the season of the year.
Are leaves still green, or have they died,
or do they show last colors clear?
And in some dreams I walk beside
a beach: blue water bright or drear.
A book was red, now faded rose.
A doll had dark brown hair, blue eyes.
I checked out new yarns, and from those
chose cream, then pine. Though memory tries
to turn dreams under fresh thought's rows,
their color all the "science" defies.
When I think back over dreams I can still remember, I remember most of them having some color: the colors people's faces and animals' coats really were, things my subconscious mind might have been reminding me to shop for the next day, food I seemed to be eating or preparing. Once when we were teenagers I dreamed I was riding in someone's white Chevrolet; person did not, at that time, own a car, but next year person inherited a white Chevrolet. Once I dreamed that my clothes almost, but not quite, color-matched with someone else's. I've even dreamed about patchwork quilts.
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