Green by Jan Ball

Would that I could wear this rural green,

the July soybeans tone on the distant hills,

the green needles of the Norfolk Pines

dabbing against the sun room like Monet’s

paintbrush.

Where I sit in the home paddock, the grass

is a prickly shag rug except for the intrusions

of woodchuck burrows and deposits

from patterned raccoons.

Most nights we see the deer in their tan jackets

and we’ve seen skunks in formal black and white

creeping along the greening cornfields but never

approachable.

I want to roll on the monochromatic rug

like a friendly border collie, tail wagging,

tongue protruding, but instead I will sit

in my blue striped t-shirt at the window,

yearning.

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Jan was a nun for seven years then lived in Australia for fourteen years with her Aussie husband and two children. She completed a dissertation at The University of Rochester: Age and Natural Order in Second Language Acquisition then taught ESL at RIT, Loyola and DePaul Universities, back in Chicago. Her 349 published poems have appeared in various journals, including ABZ, Mid-American Review and Parnassus. Three chapbooks and one full length poetry collection, I Wanted to Dance With My Father, were published by Finishing Line Press. Orbis, England, nominated her for the Pushcart in 2020.