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Study in Blue and Green with Yellow        
 
 
At age 8 – at age 9, at age 10 – ,  I crossed
a small-town Main and hopped over ants
to climb a hill that pointed up and up.
 
Near the top, a ghost-white house lighted blue
letters that spelled  out  Funeral H_me,
but it was day and the house stayed dark.
 
A big, melted-butter sun was allowed
to shine.  Dead people made the grass
the color of a fern spritzed with lime.
 
They are happy down there, I thought,
not knowing they had been driven out
of town.  Ahhh, peace and quiet at last.
 
I spread myself just so over the grass
below the top and away from the Home
and lay in my sun blanket, not wanting
 
to go home to the roar and the clash
of parents who were not happy
unless they were at each other's throats.
 
Dandelions slow-danced around me.
The dead ones loved for me to help
fly them to heaven, so I blew
 
gently, gently, and they skipped up
like the sky was their hill.  Blue,
their green,  cloud, their cushion.
 
The belt cuts on my legs disappeared
as people who had died helped me float,
whispering,  "It is so good to be alive."
 
We lay together turning dandelion
heads into angels wearing parachutes
at age 8 – at age 9,  at age 10.
 
 


 
©) Phyllis Jean Green,  January, 2006