Home looks a lot like the color green.
Coming home to little white house
against the backdrop of golden fields
with shutters that had been painted the perfect shade of hunter green.
You were our tiny grasp of the American dream.
You were a place to be free-
to run wild through pastures and carve mazes through fields of wheat.
I remember how we worked in those fields all summer long
building our little castle out of scraps we found.
I remember the sound of the shotgun when the farmer found us
Traipsing through his crops. We ran all the way home
until we found safety behind a great green door.
Home looks a lot like the color green.
One great wide expanse of a quadrilateral.
It was at the center of everything.
Your grass was the perfect shade of summer green,
surrounded by red brick buildings with white staircases spiraling up the sides.
How many times was the sun just too lovely to go to sit inside a classroom?
How many times did we throw down the weight we wore on our backs,
and throw Frisbee under the shade of giant oak trees?
The bell chimes and reminds us that another hour had passed.
One less hour that we could stay in the holy space.
The night before graduation, we escaped to this timeless expanse
And sat for our while in the dark of the night
ignoring the fears that came with tomorrow.
and the inevitable goodbyes we would have to say.
Home looks a lot like the color green.
It’s mint green tile covering the walls of the U-Bahn station
signaling that it is time to get off the subway,
that I can let my shoulders slump and my feet drag.
The day is over. My duties are done.
I grab a beer from the shop on the corner and take my time walking up cobblestone streets
that sparkle rose gold reflecting the setting sun.
and I inhale slowly, the edges of my mouth slowly curving up.
I can rest now. I am home.
rebekah.eckard 