Homesick

Whenever I have a choice of color
my husband has noticed
I pick green.

Green paint, shirts,
my wedding dress,
and asparagus off menus.
Yes, I say. It's my favorite color.

I don't tell him why.
My mountain is green.
Everyone in our family had one.
My mother sat in our garden
and watched hers
change colors throughout the day.
She was born under its shadow.

Mine was the tallest,
the center of the island.
On clear winter mornings
walking to the school bus
its ridgeline looked cut out of green
and blue and purple paper.

Most days the top is cloud-covered.
There's a swamp up there.
Constant rain,
the wettest place on earth.
Waterfalls drain down its face
some falling a thousand feet
and never reaching the valley below,
just blowing off the rock face
in the rounding winds.

Its plants grow no
where else on the planet.
White fairy terns
soar and call
a hundred feet below
the ancient hiking trails.

Yes, I like green
I tell my husband.
It's my favorite color.
He shakes his head,
and tells me I'm too cute.
He's from Philadelphia.


May Kuroiwa