[poetry]: Language of the Green

(c) Nin Harris

{mother i cannot breathe}

these thoughts blanket me
stifle like walls as we speak
we inhale exhausted green
exhale and out again are words
that entomb like wrappings
and trappings of tombs

my fingerpads like the “O” of
air exhaled; oscillated-osculated
they make patterns on the glass

separating outside from within

air comes in-between us
great matrix of connectivity
intersecting thoughts from bloodstream
to bloodstream.

my heart translates
messages the green encodes
wispy veins on parchment
{leaves in life-giving mode}

a melody of green resonating,
air initiates the rhythm of
.existence.

*

II

the language of green
can it be found in filaments of colour?
or in exhalations made as diaphragms contract.
instruments of survival-fingerpads will
run then splay across ribs
which protract as they
protect blood-pumping heart
and these lungs heaving
to keep me standing
and fuel the passion
of this art.

these organs receive
the language of green and
transcribe it like an army
of UN interpreters —
organic pipelines move
results found upwards then downwards
where it sings to
chambers of heart and head with
far more efficacy than
any security council
could ever envision
in political pipedreams.

what? you say politics
have no place in
epiphany

it exists
as all else must, you know.

the green has a secret plan
to overthrow the government
of flesh and blood

{listen}

they control a valuable resource
use it well, heed it well
you will never be majority
without their
sanction

we are nothing
without
air.

There’s your hegemony.

*

III

i grew up beneath the
shading trees of both
my imagination and the reality
of blistering afternoons in the tropics
leaves filtering light within me
freeing oxygen moving within
my blood, red as the flametree blossoms
red as chinese firecrackers signifying
wealth

red as the red red bloom of courtly love

fluttering air-making green fuels the power within my stride

– it is the slave driver pushing
these sounds out
from my diaphragm to the larynx
moving it into the waiting spaces
between our thoughts
gently coercing its way into
syllables created to undo structures

this air we breathe is a constant
lover
moulding itself
to thoughts- to skin
– to skim the water even as it
slips into our
veins

the gift of trees
and the lightsucking moss you
trample beneath your feet

air encodes the sigh
another tree cut
to print this out.

(12-15 JUNE 2001, revised 4 JULY 2002)