Green

Published in Open Wide Magazine in 2010

There are those steps,

I suppose the ones that I should follow

supposedly they make me feel better

allowing me to heal properly.

I can’t stop from picking the yellow crust,

off that scab. I pick and I pick and I bleed and I bleed.

Blood is like acid.

Because things are they the way they are

and mistakes happen

the world turns and we all walk away with a smile

if not hand in hand.

Wrapped like a Japanese chocolate box,

with sweets that don’t taste like chocolate

and do you think about it

about what I was

wrapped up like a Japanese box; black cardboard, pink fabric interior, purple skin.

Not sure if the steps are there for me

I could swan-dive out of denial

I could shape angels out of clay.

Paint with indigo and burnt sienna

and question the imprint.

I could squint and squint

but no matter how often I look

there’s no olive tree in my backyard.