Spring of Teal

by Heather Green

My arms flung wide to

receive the rain

stretching through yellow-

leaved trees.

I trip on untied shoelaces,

fall to wet-faced dirt,

nose pressed to earthworms.

All I know, all I remember,

is that this place has always

been here—

Here where tomato vines

first sprout, where

yellow snapdragons spit

thick pollen fire at heavy

summer sky, where

mountains slice through

dust storms.

Here when wind first hits earth,

Here when leaves brush

against my chapped face

raised to receive.