Somewhere in time, my mother played Bach
on a second-hand upright piano
painted green
Nap times I listened through closed doors.
Her records spun low in other rooms
pale green
The woven rug, a circle and
my belly scratched – I traced spiral patterns
Red, blue, green
Round and round in repeating
Fingersteps, and my little fractal mind
Greening
On a path, coming, going
returning to the same spot
A different shade of green
Still the same wreathed world
in thickening dimensions
Looping garlands green
The color of rest, revival
leaves, peas, verdant, viridescent
ever green
Her fingertip patterns
Her classical records
Her affinity for green
Dream echoes rise, then fall then rise again
“Come back”, they say, “Go on”, “but come back ”.
Early Morning Poems 