Then There is Verdigris
 
Rain has been shushing hours.  Obviously prefers
its own brand of sound, which varies from soto voce
to a soporific shhhhhh to a rat-a-tat-a-tat all nails
flailing drum.  In between, mouse scratches
fool you into thinking it's giving up and going home.
 
Oddly enough, the grey screen the sky pulled down
at show's beginning picked up the greens
Spring so generously sprinkles, bringing out
silver petticoats and slippers and the yellows
and blues that marry to give green life.
All of a sudden, every window is painted
in myriad shades of green. I find myself
wanting friends who live in worlds that run
brown, tan, and gold or white and ivory
and cream, however stunning they can be,
to be here pressing their noses next to mine
'til the rain leaves.  Not just see but feel these
theatrics.  Even hear green speak in its own
tongue, yet see we understand.   Sense how
the hue skips through skin to touch heart
and brain. Mend, and if need-be,  regrow.
One look tells you that it lavishes food to
satisfy the body, flowers to satisfy the soul.
Green simply a color, but like this rain,
we have been intimate years.  Sweet
on each other, so rain, act your heart out.
Costume hill and vale in shamrock, celadon,
emerald, chartreuse, pine, leaf, forest, lime,
olive, sea, jade, tea, avocado, kelly, hoosegaw,
and shades you make up as you frolic.
Me, I'm for lima, April, May, velveteen.

      (c) Phyllis Jean Green, April, 2008