G is for Greenhood
for spring sitting on my shoulders
then fastening to eye level
chanteuse gladiolas spinning bowing in the distance
scents of green greening
until earth gets it right
green that I can’t keep to myself
say: green
belongs within reach
like an extract of
sepal outside of the flower body
you wouldn’t recognize me
when I cradle green
for fear of it becoming worn in many places
even when morning lurks upside-down
green (not this green) never hurts
ask the turacos giving off green among drizzled leaves
ask the grasshoppers that throw themselves against grass because it glistens
ask wet green in my blood that hasn’t forgotten spared green across homeland
where your green overlaps with mine
Dorsía Smith Silva is a seven-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Best of the Net finalist, Best New Poets nominee, Cave Canem Poetry Prize Semifinalist, Obsidian Fellow, poetry editor of The Hopper, and full professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras. CavanKerry Press will publish her poetry book in 2024 and she posts on social media @DSmithSilva.
Read poetry by Dorsía Smith Silva previously appearing in Terrain.org.
Header photo by Joe, courtesy Pixabay.
