A poem about the green light that glares in my grandmother's kitchen at night when all lights are shut off. The bulb is green and all is silent. Here in this kitchen; this house, so much has happened. I've seen things I wish I never did. There in the green light. A window at the entrance is where I used to look through all the time and think about running away. For the last part of the poem, I am referencing my grandfather who passed away in this house. His bed is near the kitchen and his presence is still eerily felt.