Bein' Green

Back when I was 3,
I loved to see the sunlight shining on my skin.
I remember how much that used to
Make me smile, like that tiny
Yellow flower
Growing out unexpectedly
From a crack on the sidewalk.

And then I’d run, and trip
And fall
And bruise;
I’d stare at that
Violet mark
On my skin, it tingles,
Though it never really made me cry.

I could lie down on the ground
To just stare at the
Blue sky
Which raised up high above me;
I wish I could get there and stay,
How much time of dreaming would it take?

I recall the bright, familiar color of an
Orange peel
Resting on the kitchen table
After having asked Mother
To slice it up for me.

As I grew up, I heard
That 15 is right where
Your time for dreaming stops,
This, from a woman with an
Indigo-sounding voice
And a passion for the quiet
And the square.

Yet, who was there to see
When a 16-year-old me
Had to stand up for herself and learn
That love was a kaleidoscope of deep,
Red memories
That never fade away?

But here, now in my room,
Where it pours bean
Green over blue,
I can see and I can tell
That a little, fragile sprout can still hope.

We mix up, and swirl
And leave our mark behind,
But if I could go back and see
That 3-year-old me,
I’d most likely say to her
That she really got it right,

For a flower that is yellow
With a violet bruise
Under the blue sky,
Who smells of orange peels
And turns away from women with indigo voices
Can look through the kaleidoscope again.

Those red memories
Will bring up the green inside;
They’ll bring up our hopes,
And lead us into understanding
That we are all, in fact,
Leaving behind a
Rainbow trail
As we pass by.