Unraveling green thread,
tossed blankets
of mossy fabrics,
the oozing motion
of light blue paint
falling on bubbles sheets
falling on the clear edge
of the canvas.
Bandits and robbers
won't take my candy,
only Great Grandma's laughs
I think.
I remember green,
blue,
brown.
Trees, sky, dirt.
Where did the robbers come from?
And the arrhythmia?
And the bumper stickers?
And the stillborns?
And the cantaloupes
in your daughters tubes?
More importantly,
where did all the holidays go
when no one was dying
to celebrate them?
