MY GREEN GIRL

She comes at night
sings me awake
croons me from dreams
to memory of grass and trees
to weeds and herbs
to my lifelong shame –
using her as a shield

She stands, tilts her head
smiles while guilt flashes
down my neck
into my angled shoulder
to the gashes in her wrists.
“It’ll be all right” she lilts,
as though I can right
the wrongs that haunt me.
Still.

What she called her “medal” I remember.
She found it in that black hut but
holds it out to me now,
someone’s lost locket where we put
that picture I made of her
The Green Girl laughing
on a swing, one shoe flying
to blue and gold
against background notes of grey
and jagged tones of black.

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