Green girl returns uninvited
resurges in lurid Technicolor trilling exorbitance.
Green regroups, miming branch-bedecked rebels stalking Dunsinane.
Green materializes like a vengeful spirit creeping through our dining rooms,
sky draped over her arm like a serving napkin.
Watch her dash into the forest with a mouthful of pins
to deck the trees in bespoke foliage.
She means to seduce you, even though she knows
you’ve already pledged your troth to darkness.
—
Catherine Wald is a poet, teacher and tour guide based in a Manhattan apartment the size of her laptop. Poems have appeared in American Journal of Nursing, Gravel, Minerva Rising, J Journal, The New York Times, and Snapdragon Journal, among others. She has published a chapbook, Distant, burned-out stars (Finishing Line) and a nonfiction book, The Resilient Writer (Persea Books).
