in the wet night

the rhythm we keep
with the speed of the tractor
on the transplantor
dropping zoey onions, kohlrabi, napa cabbage
into the dibbles
the water wheel leaves
in the beds

arriving home to the chorus of peepers
in the wet night
of rain

walking out

i hate walking out i say
about walking out in the middle of a poetry reading
to sit in the sun
near the magnolias
on the yellow chairs
in the part-shade part-sun
after spending most of the weekend
(with its 70-some-degree days)
in roomfuls of other writers

the gross rainbow

that was invigorating i say
about our 8am session in the field
uncovering the garlic
that spears its white to yellow to green
(form the ground up) sprouts
under a cool sky
exposed to the ridge winds whipping
straw mulch all about us

j and i jumping up and down
in front of HQ
to catch more glimpses
of the sun (molten) that has gone down
beyond the hill in front of us
but has not set yet
on the horizon
the gross rainbow
(mostly primary colors)
of the balloon bits
i pick up off the rainwet drive
gritty with gravel

double happiness

how the song/sounds
of the meadowlark and killdeer
keep us company as we work
with pitchforks
up and down the beds
removing too-think mulch
from the garlic
bursting green up through the soil

my bones i say
about what feels bruised/what aches
in my wrists and forearms
after three hours
of maneuvering the pitchfork
in the ridge wind
the double-happiness donation
in the virtual tip jar
just days after i mentioned that you
ended up being one of the most meaningful parts
about my time in san diego –
gratitude doesn’t feel like enough

into the wind

the patches of nettles (and dock and winter cress) we discover
on the creek’s gravelly island
that formed a few years ago
when the flood waters widened the creekbed
how we ask permission,
how we thank them,
how we carry the tips we’ve plucked
back with us
in a red hankey bundle

juniper singing the tigger song
into the wind
as we climb the hill home
The wonderful thing about tiggers
Is tiggers are wonderful things!
Their tops are made out of rubber
Their bottoms are made out of springs!
They’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy
Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!
But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is
I’m the only one

aggressive ellipses

the way yesterday’s birds
filled bare budding trees
and steely sky –
how i stopped the car and rolled
down the windows to listen
to the air
thick and alive
with cheeps and chitters and caws and calls

deena and i briefly reunited
and laughing about aggressive ellipses
which her son accuses her of texting

juggling squirrels búho says
on an almost-final note
to their extremely vegan sibling
and how we laugh at this
almost delirious
from the day of sending energy out
and out and out
from behind our table
at the zinefest
on the third floor of madison’s downtown library

at right angles

‘shaking hands’ with the pine tree
at the bottom of the trailer park hill
to bring some relief by shimmying the heavy wet snow
off its drooping boughs
how i say it’s nice to meet you
and how the branches spring up,
lighter after shedding the snow weight

the stickiest snow of the year,
juniper lets me
throw snowballs at her winter-jacket-armored self
before we roll snow
to make a creature
with horns instead of arms
and a snout instead of a carrot nose
i turn it at right angles she says
about her snowball rolling technique

the white stitches on
olive green
i am sewing a new little pouch with three tails,
mouselike (except for the extra two tails)
and filling it with dried catnip
for grey kitty
the hot white flashes
and rumbles that follow,
the season’s first thunder and lightning
that come with, hopefully, the season’s
last snow (and ice sleet and rain ice and
50mph winds and wintry mixing)
how the drama lasts all night and into
the morning:
wind pulling at tree limbs,
wind pulling at trailer siding,
wind making lights flicker,
wind tugging down power lines