the eagles we watch

the three eagles we watch
while walking along the highway shoulder
landing in the bare tree in the back yard
of a house along J
and taking off too
the cat prints in the golf course snow
where we follow the path
and the paw prints weave on and off of it
names we give the sunset color/s:
grandma’s face powder
and strawberry dacquiri
things i yell at the oncoming cars
as we enter into our 10th, 11th and 12th  miles
of our thirteen mile walk
(split into two halves)
some of which is along the shoulder
of weirdly trafficked (for here) highways
their headlights glaring
and my reflective gear reflecting
while our blinky lights blink
when i’ve had enough
of navigating traffic
(having to dip down into the ditch
because the shoulder is not wide enough):
i hate you, cars!!!!

stop being a car! be a turtle!
go home! or if you are on your way home,
go to some other home where this road isn’t on your way!
leave us alone, go somewhere else, you poopstain!!!!!
a half marathon
juniper says
about the distance we walked today

in the in between parts

barching the funny way
the word marching came out and how
it becomes a joke
repeated at least twenty times
along with
quit busting my balls,
my titties are tired


rochelle and i
moving wet rags over dusty surfaces
and talking
the whole time
and, there must be a word, for how satisfying it feels
to get something dulled by water/mineral stains
to shine
driving slow in the wonderworld of coming-down snow
how all those flakes moving into the headlights
create some weird movement illusion
like moving through a tunnel of stars
into outer space
the thinnness of the airmail envelope
postmarked memphis
that i pull out of box 419

shawn in the seat next to me singing along
to the 90s song bits
played in the in between parts of the play
the breeders
the cranberries
smashing pumpkins
while the high school students
at the high-school-student-run-school
ace their words
their combat moves
their attitudes
in the she kills monsters production


a clearness for winter sight

paper to window glass
squeaking and streaking as i clean best i can
a clearness for winter sight
while the smell of plastic burning
rises from a neighbor’s chimney
and the orangey muted sunsetting light
lands on the gold stubs in the fields of shorn corn
the loud roar/hum
of the combines and accompanying machines
harvesting the soy in the field arcoss the way
the sound eating up the cold night
as the headlights move through
the fields

the big shadows of big pieces of fluffy snow
swirling down
cast on the front window’s sortof translucent curtains
by the glow of the too bright streetlight that i hate
though tonight, because of this kinetic shadow show, i appreciate
that profane thing and its led glow

searching the iced-over

searching the iced-over pond
for signs of our beaver friend
the slight movement of water
near the lodge,
the sunlight on the surface rippling with motion
zara’s fingers moving the needles and the yarn
as she finishes her second hat of the day
(this one blue and gray square pattern)
while j, fede and i
floor-lounge digesting dinner

assessing the sunflower seed status
of the huge dead dried sunflower-turned-birdfeeder
to find that most of the remaining seeds
have had their meat pecked out of them
by the downy woodpecker visitors
the irish accents on the radio show
talking about campaigns for access to abortion
in a place where the life of the fetus
even if the mother’s is at risk
is held in. higher regard
while i chop carrots
and saute the onions for soup
fede saying that, because of eggnog,
he could  go from not liking winter
to loving winter
as he sips away
at his eggnog
from the water world:

A girl carries jerry cans to fill up with drinking water at a camp that shelters displaced people from the Red Sea port city ofcHodeidah, near Aden, Yemen. –  voice of america, day in photos

a lift that assists

the buzz of this low grade tension
something sub-surface for now
as the caravan of people migrating
form south to north
moves closer and closer
to the mexico/u.s. border where,
on the other side of the barrier
live more and more people less and less afraid
of blatantly and violently displaying and acting upon
their hateful racist white supremacist views and

i think of the worst yet hope and hope and hope for the best
the white puff of a down blanket feather
we take turns blowing up into the air
and letting it come back down again and again
this is how morning starts
followed by the cool whhhhip clip
followed by a viewing of ellen’s
coming out episode
all in all, a pretty good way
to start the day

the bright light
the glint and glow and slow warmth
the sun, first appearance in days,
topping off my critical levels
of energy and exuberance
despite the degrees in the teens
i still want to be out
moving around in it
the display of at least a dozen deer heads
at the hardware store
between the paint section and the automotive section
each one accompanied by a tag i don’t read,
but i gather they were hunted locally
and are on display like kindergarten art would be on display
in an elementary school hallway
beep beep beep backup sounds
of the construction vehicle with a lift
that assists the three workers
in adorning the main street lampposts
in holiday decoration gear
like light up snow flakes and garland

a sin in the church of cat

entering my sister’s chemo dates
on the calender into the months of
december and january
loma and her friend dianne
at the coffee shop saying
it’s their birthday
and how they get confetti
(gesturing out the coffee shop window – light snow swirling down)
all day to celebrate it
jess stirring the chicken soup on the stove
while talking about writing about
the house fire
her polish grandmother died in
and how that ties into
herbs that she knows/works with

i blank on the name of the black cat that chose me
for at least two hours
(the cat chose me for months, i blank for hours)
going over and over in my head
the names of the others and thinking this one, then,
would fall right in place but it isn’t until later
when i tell j i blanked
that she helps me get there: moon something
and it means something sad i think
a sin in the church of cat,
in the church of love
to go so blank
for so long

juniper and i
holding our glasses of nog up
and saying cheers/to your health
in as many languages we know it in:
swiss german

as we move through the duskdark

how we walk single file
on the road edge when a car approaches
as we move through the duskdark
along the curving gravel hills
at the top of the hill
we stop/stand
for at least ten minutes
if not fifteen
just to look/to listen into the woods
beyond the semi roaring along
and through the persistent dog barks
calling to each other
from ridge to ridge
skillet cornbread still warm with butter
melting on top
chili steaming in the pot
and a salad featuring some of the garden’s last tomatoes
hanging on this whole time
ripening wrapped in newspaper
and then right there on the kitchen table
we feast

drips off rooftops and other edges,
the first snow that stuck now melting
but not so fast that the white on the ground
and in the fields
completely disappears