Oh green, I miss you,
miss how you used
to flourish in me,
no matter how brittle,
how brown I’d become.
I didn’t know then
I took you for granted.
I miss your softness,
your tenderness,
all the promise inside you,
the sunlight you carry
in your veins.
Some days I remember
what it is to be green.
Some days, when it’s gray,
I tell myself green is possible again.
Some days, when the rain
still doesn’t fall,
I practice how to break.
Some days, I swear I’ll find a way
to become green again,
no matter how unlikely,
how parched this field.
Somedays, though I long since
forgot how to pray,
the prayers find me anyway
and my empty hands
will not come down.
Is it already turning brown there in Colorado?
oh yes, friend … sooo brown. so little rain here. It’s brittle and brown. Kindling. But yesterday was the first big rain here since last summer. may it rain, rain, rain.
Oh, those last three lines! Perfect!
there they are, up in the air–