Green Hell I’ve Heard It Called,
where green rises from Everglades mud
and gray-green water makes a tangle
snatches bungees from the tarp
scrapes things out of the canoe points me
forward holds me back
shakes in wind flips up salty petticoats
entices me into its green teasing curl Green
does not hate me or love me or guide me or lose me
I guide or lose myself and green is there a witness.
In these ragged tunnels green is as it is everywhere
necessity Explain it with the physics of light
the mechanics of photosynthesis it’s still mysterious
Not envy not spleen not metaphor.
I grew up with green everywhere green storm
green tide green rising from backyard dirt
I took it for granted Green took up residence in me
transformed itself into need My first canoe was green
My now canoe color of senescent leaves
I have never said green was my favorite color
or malachite shamrock olive emerald jade
Green is the color of loss Caedmon wrote that Adam
stepped on grene graes Green is in the eye
of the beholder optic retinal occipital
I lift mine eyes unto Grene living, trembling Grene
Anne McCrary Sullivan has been canoeing in the Everglades for over twenty years. She is a Florida Master Naturalist and a native plant enthusiast. Read more.
An earlier version of this poem appeared in Notes from a Marine Biologist’s Daughter, Saint Julian Press, 2023.