we are in the sunlight

6something a.m.
what i think is a bright flash
passing through eyelids
not sure until
a rumble of thunder offers confirmation
the crackle of chiles
while they tumble around open flame
in a rotating metal mesh barrel
signs announcing free tea
attached to a small school bus converted
into a mobile tea kitchen/parlor
that runs on veggie oil
one man stops by
signs the guestbook
mentions how he has returned to vietnam
(the very place he was 50 years ago)
to teach english
his smile showing us
how much he loves his work
it’s illegal to harvest rainwater in colorado
because it takes business away
from the water company
says the woman whose name i forget
cupping her hands around
a cup of vanilla rooibos tea
in the couch-nap dream
ami says she can’t get that song
(hey micki, you’re so fine
you’re so fine you lose my mind)
out of her head
referring to the name of the dog
she’s taking care of
we are in the sunlight of a
living room in chimayo
unkinking my back
on teal yoga mat
ramones playing in the background
i want you around

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

magpies swooping

i wake in 10 minute increments
sitting up to take in
the shifting purplepink cloudswath sunrise
yoga flow so good (link to sweat yr turtle off)
i am surprised by the quick passage
of forty minutes
though it is a dead-end
i can’t not ride my bike
down a street named leatherman
what i find there:
view of big mountain
to the north
and pink/orange adobe
with blue-trimmed windows
magpies swooping
through yellow swirl of leaves
(one of which touches my cheek
one of which hits my shoulder)
small smile on my face
as i pedal through
forest leaf-decomposing smell
in the desert dry air
the several shades of orange
hair of the woman at the garage
sale down the way who talks
about savoring this
warmth while we have it
between central standard and mountain time
i ask about shifts
about closure, clarity, perspective
regarding things a visit to the motherland can do
i ask about the time between
injury and death
i ask about the name
of the favorite aunt
i ask about names and places
of birth
spaciousness i say
about arranging the day as it
comes to me
10:10pm salsa on the radio
smell of skunk seeping through
sealed windows
stars blinking on in moonless sky


from the water world:

Traditionally-dressed representatives from South Pacific nations push their canoes into the water as they prepare to participate in a protest aimed at ships leaving the Newcastle coal port, located north of Sydney, Australia. Around 100 protesters formed a blockade using traditional canoes and kayaks to the entrance of the world’s largest coal port demanding a global change to the use of coal. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

like lattice

like lattice work mara says
when i ask her to help me remember
vigas and latillas
words for the parts of the roof
of helene wurlitzer’s adobe house
that took seven years to build
who is that little creature
with the open mouth i ask
about the small clay figure
with arms/legs circling a vessel
that’s a rain catcher
really popular with the anglos
michael says
which doesn’t phase me in the least
when i lean in close
to that carved face
a shelf of thin german books
covers of fantastic colors/patterns
my finger traces helene’s
handwritten name on the inside cover
i’m always outraged i say
(referencing fracking injection wells, the chilean woman’s account i heard on the radio about how aborting her several-week fetus classified her as criminal, about an ebola vaccine that could be developed but hasn’t been because there’s not enough money in it)
but this rage feels different
this rage is changing (me)
(a kind of being called and
moving towards the voice
before i know what it will ask of me)
tom brings orange/almond chocolate
and uses the prase life-changing when he mentions
the vermont residency and the
trans literature conference in winnipeg
my pulse visible
in the middle of my palm
when i hold it flat, face-up
under the desklight

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

who came to take them

she lost a year, nobody knows
(including her) where she was/what happened
ami tells me about grandma
after grandma’s mother died
due to an injury sustained from horses
spooked by nazi soldiers
who came to take them
(the horses)

hours later
walking  home from the post office
it hits me in the gut
and i cry down burch street
under yellow leaves
for that blank year
an ebola vaccine is quite achievable
the person on the radio says
but because private sectors
are the ones who develop vaccines
see that there’s not much profit to be made
(most of the people in need of this vaccine
have very little money)
it hasn’t been pursued
jabs and punches and whatnot
shiz says
about her boxing class
while we talk one time zone apart
on her walk home

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

range rising

gold sunspill on the
range rising in the west
as the 30-something maybe 40-something degree air
fills my lungs
pinks my cheeks
rhythm of my runningsteps underneath
church bells ringing 7:30am
through chimney smoke and
half-bare, half-yellow-leaved trees
the swish of wing-sounds overhead
two ravens
one with what looks like
a hunk of bread clamped in beak
heading for alfalfa fields
guitar case in my hand
i didn’t know you play jonathan says
amongst the wood-stove sized branch rounds
lined up on the ground
i don’t really i say
and later wonder how many other ways
i dismiss myself
(but it’s true – the guitar is just a structure
to drape voice over, in this case
so if jonathan said i didn’t you you sang
i’d say it’s true – i do)
i offer a spill from my thermos
(hot dandelion chicory tea)
to the desert
libation! i say
these edge-of-town-places i say
to natacha when we cross paths
up past the morada off las cruces road
where we can see sun laying pink light
over sacred mountain
sounds of town echo below but
up here the silence is as if the sage
is a sponge
sucking sound out of air
from the documentary film ‘capitalism is the crisis':

who are the people that run bp or exxon mobile? they’re executioners. they’re killers. not only of the human species but of the very ecosystem that sustains life on the planet. in moral terms, they propagate systems of death, quite literally. unchecked, they will kill us
they’ll kill most of us along with all the the innocent life forms that had nothing to do with the folly of human existence.

this particular culture of consumption, this culture built around fossil fuels works – because we give these corporations a lot of money.

student debt for the first time surpasses credit card debt in the u.s.

our future is already foreclosed, it is colonized by financialization.

capital functions through breaking down, through continuous crises on different scales. sometimes it can weaken capital and sometimes it can strengthen capita


IMG_4819 IMG_4824 IMG_4825 IMG_4828 IMG_4833 IMG_4855

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

migrating away

thin veil of frost
flung out over the alfalfa field
to the north
four mandarin oranges
to make half a glass of
morning sweet/tanging juice
woodpecker claws wall-dug
(gravity defying)
pecking over front door
how i crouch slow and low
inside for a view
of its white dotted black feathers
flash of red-orange underneath
the swish of wings
cutting through the stillness of
almost-sunset time of day
though i cannot see the creature
a whistle
on burch and los pandos
that sounds just like melissa’s
in chimayo, calling laddie
out to the badlands
4something pm
this week in water
is the title of the radio short on ktaos (solar-powered radio) reporting:

people in ireland marching
to demand
access to water
(a protestor in dublin holding a sign that says
access to water is a human right)

while in detroit, a judge decides that is not the case
an estimated 22,000 homes experiencing shutoffs
with as many as 400 shutoffs occurring each day

and then there is a blurb about injection wells
at fracking sites
where wastewater (laced with toxic chemicals) is injected
into the earth
tainting california (and beyond, i’m sure) aquifers
outraged, i want to shake the person/corporation whose idea it was (and thought it would do no harm, or knew it would but didn’t give a fuck because of the money in it)
and yell-ask them where are your senses!!!???

and a report of many species of fish
migrating away from the equator
to north and south poles
in order to escape warming water

and, last but not least:
nasa is continuing its exploration of
mining moon water
(for water, but also for rocket fuel which would make the moon a good pit stop for further space exploration)
nasa isn’t the only entity eyeing the moon’s resources
with aims to mine and exploit
(likened to a gold rush)
25 to 28 degrees they say
for how cool it’s supposed to get tonight




Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

flickering through

11am light
flickering through limbs
while the wind pulls aspen and elm
leaves (gold shavings)
into twists and drifts across alfalfa fields
in a snowglobe swirl
thunder rumbling and
bluegray sky to the northeast
shifting shape
i crack a window
to let sound in
while lightning squiggles down
an introduction between pot shard
and photograph
(both of whose spirits swirl
while their living bodies
have already been given
back to earth)
i never heard a river say
use this body as a border
so begins the first poem
i have written since
grad school scooped the spirit
out of me like a melon baller
so i fill the room with its lines
my voice
a revival
(other things have been written since
but this is the first being-able-to-write-like-i-used-to /
that-part-of-me-was-never-dead moment)
nobody remembers tower 7 leon says
while the six of us spoon
potato leek soup
to our mouths

there’s only one ocean
leon says in a reference
to mission blue
and a quote from oceanographer sylvia earle

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing