The Green Girl Thinks of Home

Poem by Anne E.G. Nydam

 In my land we knew only twilight;

     When I first saw night it was beautiful.

Such quick-silver moon, such slow-amber flame,

marbled lapis waters, such pure color:

the russet nights in the city,

the horse-black nights in the country.

Our twilight never had such colors.

     When I first saw day it was beautiful.

Such crisply ruled horizons, such meticulous leaves,

chiseled chimneys, such definite shape:

the etched feathers on the birds,

the exquisite links of the latch chains.

Our twilight never had such shapes.

     But I learned

You can't go out in the night.

Russet blood spills away in the night,

horse-black clouds mask the streets in the night.

Deep colors can drown you.

Our twilight was safer than that.

     And I learned

You can't keep cover in the day.

Secrets are etched in your eyes in the day,

exquisite flaws are distinct in the day.

Sharp edges can cut you.

Our twilight was gentler than that.

     "You must take the bad with the good,"

they say, "The troughs with the peaks."

But who says these peaks are good?

Our twilight was better than that.

     I was content with the twilight.