May Green
I am one shade that points two ways--
I speak out both sides of my mouth,
the bright before the bloom.
And oh, when I heard your news
I sprang into the foreground
like the two-edged grass
after the storm, unearthly
color plain for all to see.
Because I am renewed, of course--
at the beginning, the bright
before the bloom.
I am the last to bloom.
I see how envy is the stalk of sorcery--
how could this dazzling want wait
quietly upon the earth, the days?
Am I the last?
Oh where is my small rain, love,
to smooth my jagged color from the world?
I will awaken with your news
in mind--wishing you well
out one side of my mouth.
And how I will shine, renewed,
the bright before the bloom,
watching you bloom while I stand by.
Will I be last? I only want
a path, a little peace, another body
breathing in the sheets, enough
to let me burn less bright
than you and I before the bloom.
Oh only my own
small rain will comfort me.




Cyd Harrell, 2003. All rights reserved.
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