Kitchen Reno

All possibilities hinge on the color green.

Before floors, lighting, kitchen sink gauge (where less is more),

before committing to granite, leathered to the brink of Egyption cotton,

the cabinet must find its shade among the nine contestants currently striped

on the uppers, the lowers, the wall.

She says, no one will like a green kitchen.

She means, no one will like me.

But haven't I developed the skill to translate sound at the speed of light,

bending noise into affirmation,

asserting a sing-song bell when boundaries are breached?

She says, did you ask your friends what they think?

I say, this is my kitchen.

She says, what is wrong with a nice neutral gray?

And I say, I am old enough to choose brooding Hunter,

hazy, golden Peridot, True Green (so green, too green)

Irish Clover, one called Crown of Thorn.

Even those teals masquerading as greens are still in the running,

still on the table where I feast on greens

like celery tops, like feisty purslane, like rabe-

dark and bitter. I devour disapproval,

and eat my fill.

I am old enough to choose my green, and -

if I do so please -

accent her in wild-eyed orange.