Sarah Rooney Designs

When we come home we rake leaves
On your birthday
On Thanksgiving
Bumbling through the front yard
Up and down, up and down
Raking back somber soppy foliage
To reveal startling green grass

Rich and dark, like the shiny stringy beds
You used to stuff in our Easter baskets
It feels too green, too soft, too gentle,
under the dead leaves
Like we’re callously ripping off the crinkly blanket
That was meant to comfort spring’s slumber

The protective headphones you wear across the lawn are green too
they hold down your wild shock of gray hair
I remember the first time Emily called it gray
My hair is brown!
You exclaimed
We were sorry to have to break it to you
It nearly blends into the overcast sky above us

I wonder why they call it overcast
If it has anything to do with fishing
Like we’re at the bottom of some murky pond
And God’s nephew is sitting on a dock up there
casting his endless silver line over us

I remember you took us fishing once
I had a little pink fishing rod
And my line got irreparably tangled in a pile of sticks in the water
We had to cut it
I bet the fish where glad

If mom were here
She’d comment that we’re all wearing blue shirts
I guess we’re making up for the sky