Andrea Kenney

Changing Colors

Soy beans
glisten like smooth
jade gems beneath
the saltwater slosh
of my bowl
and the tink
of my copper fork
as it slides, unsteady
in my grasp.
They remind me
of the strand that once hung,
fluid and sparkling,
from grandma's neck in the Sunday
after church sun
while she gardened,
transparent veined fingers
like friendly earthworms
aerating the soil
beneath the honeysuckle.
Everything is connected,
everything starts anew.
I can soon put the blood
red days
of February
behind me
as March glows green
on the horizon
and new growth
pushes up.

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