A Prayer For Green- Michael Erickson

As a child I stood by a rusting fence,

Waiting for you to walk out your back door.

There’d be a flash of while against black suspenders,

And you’d be out the door with your metal cane.

I’d stand there waiting to hear water run,

Hiding behind leaves so wide they hid my face.

You’d sing to yourself and trundle up the hill,

With me watching your booted feet inspect.

Water rushed along its paved path,

Splashing into soil rich with life.

I would race while ill-concealed giggles spilled forth,

Trying to beat the irrigating flow.

And you would laugh when I jumped out,

From behind the green growing grapes.

Each year I grew,

A little faster, a little taller.

And all the while you’d sing, inspect, and laugh.

Between us grew a verdant world,

One I often found myself hoping for each year.

Then one spring your voice did not sound,

There was no flash of white against black suspenders.

Water did not flow nor race did I either,

Yet the green grew taller even still.

And I learned about bones buried deep within rich soil,

While I sat below the leaves and prayed for green.

Now that I’ve grown and felt the depths of life’s winters,

I offer a prayer for green.

And with each spring I sing with the leaves,

And laugh to the tossing of these sacred vines.

I race with other small feet and relish the rich soil,

But have yet to wear the black suspenders.


Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.

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