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I want grass stains so badly I can hardly stand it
by Karen Boyd
04/01/06
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They are my secret.

*Mysterious shame
That ebbs as the tide
Ravenous they chase
The heels of Joy-Game
Looming, Mother chides
Ends the Child's race*

Mother would have you think
of causes, like
Falling on the Lawn.
But, in fact, the Messengers bring them.
The Messengers are drawn.
Pencil sketches.

*They split moons in half
scoop out the green
the precious center.
The earth Child's laugh
light, loud, and unseen
awakes these senders.*

They come. They alight on bare knees
And sow bliss.

Happily says Child, “Thank You.”

“You are welcome,” replies Messenger.

Together they run.

Later.

“How was your day?” Messenger asks.
“Almost green,” says Child, thinking.
“As green as the stains?”

“Color my day
chartruese.

Perfect color for a backpack,
A catalogue,
or my day.

Pick an event, and encapsulate it
then wrap it
chartreuse.

i should have a candle
(it would be chartreuse)
and i would burn it by my bath tub
and smell it

i would become tired.
i might slip beneath the water.

But regardless, my day was chartreuse, and you can't argue with that.

'True,' Messenger nods.

they sit quietly together
on a knoll,
but they think it's a hill.


'I am afraid," Child pleads, "Of public speaking and global warming."

"Do not fear. It will be well. God is with you, Child."

"I am blessed."

"You are: watch."

*shading the heavens russet,
the sky's embers exprire
unique beauty; a sunset.*

*circling their eternal track,
stars emerge: unleashed, unchained.
evening's blue fades to night's black
colors gone; glory remains.*


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