The Color Green Begins as Pale Eggshell

We had no space to discuss
whether Spring hatched new words along with rain
and animal babies as we stood in line waiting
behind the migratory homeless population
for our complimentary lemon water ice.

Tulips, those perennial over-achievers,
did their way through the mulch of discarded spoons
apparently non-pulsed by what we felt
was a serious lack of time-lapse photography.

Over wooden salad bowls Timothy mentioned
the illuminated exit signs didn’t seem up to code.
I said the electricity’s the same, so. We both admitted
skin is a great part of the excitement and started lifting
again. I ran five times last week.

On Thursday my whole family piled into to-do lists headed for the coast.
I packed for a cold snap and set the timer on my gecko’s heat lamp. Lately
I’ve heard crickets singing in the terrarium but neither one of us can find them.

At the boardwalk in Rehoboth I spotted an older version of Timothy
walking a skinnier version of Kayla. These things happen
increasingly. The cloves of garlic in the beach house cabinet sprouted
as if they knew, even living in the dark.

This time of year should be accompanied by an audible crack.

I called Timothy and left a message.
Small balloons beneath my skin have begun inflating
to make room for a family of sparrows.
In another week I’ll be a squawking mess.
I’ll need that dictionary. These things happen.

Patrick Lucy’s most recent work is featured in the Summer/Fall 2010 edition of Gulf Coast. Patrick invites you to visit his blog and ephemeral press at www.catchconfetti.com.