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
This poem first appeared in Terrain and In Inheritance of Drowning.
—
Dorsía Smith Silva is the author of In Inheritance of Drowning (CavanKerry, 2024), which was a finalist for theWhirling Prize and reviewed by Publishers Weekly. She is an eight-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Best of the Net finalist, Best New Poets nominee, Cave Canem Poetry Prize Semifinalist, Obsidian Fellow, Poetry Editor at The Hopper, and Full Professor at the University of Puerto Rico. Her work appears in Literary Hub, Poets.org, and The Los Angeles Review.
