Out Like a Lamb

The Green Balloon

At my grandma's home, an old framed photo
never moved from its place on the wall
above her mustard yellow rotary phone.

In the photo I was four, my green balloon
atop a stick has swirls of blue, a marbled world
and though faded, you can clearly see my joy.

At my mother's house, whole rooms of carpet
crawled up the stairs and vomited viridian
and all the plants and greenery were plastic.

In her house I was small, my feet at least
cushioned by the carpet and a memory of me
at four, eyes raised to my very own planet.



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April 13—Greenery