On Overthinking

Going Green

0510.2014

While snubbing my history,

all I see is green—overgrown

with too many possibilities—

and I think: these must be my salad days.

Terms set the distance

between me

and various mixtures of vegetables;

my tending’s broken down,

reconstructing the dish

one failure at a time.

Suddenly I’m breathing,

exhaling,

moving mountains—

metaphorically.

(Except mountains have a point.

The point is to be

quietly unmoving,

and sometimes mystifying.)

It’s not just the salad, though.

It’s my victory garden.

Sometimes, trying to make sense

means becoming the spiny vegetable—

all this bloody mess

just to survive,

just to be consumed.

And though there’s no more pain

than I allow,

and though some green things

don’t sustain life—but eat it—

and it grows faster

than I can see it coming,

I’m brandishing woodcutters,

just in case.

Really, I just want

to snub some history

(and maybe the present day),

especially at 4:40 a.m.

when all I can think of

is the alphabet,

language,

the chocolate pudding chill in the fridge,

and fading with the stars.

m.c.f.