Because She Could Not Wait for Spring

Brush by dripping brush
the woman laved color
over the winter weary kitchen.
White-winged counters drifted
amid the blush of seashells.
Cupboards rocked off their hinges
with the idea of orange
and the chairs knocked knees
under a bee-bright table.
The floorboards also clamored
for reinvention, to be swiped
with intimations of moss,
until at effort’s end,
the tongue-drag of green
would hold the painter fast
with the knowledge that
she’d never leave the kitchen now.