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  • Writer's pictureLeann Shamash

Green Yarn

The ball of green yarn which is summer is nearly gone.

It is knit into gardens,

splashed into ponds,

embroidered on mountain paths,

churned into ice cream,

baked into the melting hot top of city streets.

It trails after baseballs as they lift into the July sky.

The thin green line could go on forever.

As leaves begin to fall

(so early this year)

and nights grow longer,

I wish that I could hold

that green yarn though the cold months.

Instead, I will snip a short green strand,

put it under my pillow

until May comes around

and summer is just around the corner.

Warmth surrounds me.

Green again.

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