Mother gets rebellious
And uncontrollably free
Every year ‘round this time -
Spewing watercolors
From the heavens
In fits of manic glory,
Infusing saplings and their abuelos
With the kind of absurdity
Found in the daydreams
Of small children.
When it rains,
Droplets of holy water
Roll off of leaves and
Mix with Mother’s paint,
Cascading into
Purple puddles that reflect the
Charismatic oaks
Who speak in tongues
And were blessed by Crayola’s
Atomic tangerine crayon.
Treasures are everywhere.
Like Raggedy-Anne Tree,
Whose haphazard reds and oranges
And amber freckles
Make her almost sassy,
But not quite.
The well-worn blacktop
Is peppered with red and gold.
Like a perfectly seasoned cup
Of steaming broth,
It richens the natural flavor
Of Mother’s lunacy.
It all blends together,
This rebellion.
An expression of integration
Rising from the earth
Reminding us that fragmentedness
Is not natural.
This living painting of
Quiet pandemonium
Harvests forgiveness
And redemption.
Souls imbued beyond saturation point
Can only leave trails
Of speckled amber excess -
And hope - in their wake.
