ass burgers

first bird seen
watching through darien’s (via mom) binoculars using the eastern birds peterson field guide:
rose breasted grosbeak
the red patch on its chest
and the white specks on its black feathers 
and its short beak
making it easy
to find in the book and its long still perch
in view from bed loft also making it ideal
as a first bird
cutest raccoon ever held in captivity
tame and mellow
and almot dog-like in behavior
how i hate being a human who wants to keep the creatures from raiding our house
which means we capture the creature and drop them off so very far from home
near water at least but still
how when emory hears aspbergers  his eyes widen because what he’s really hearing is ass burgers
as in: so and so has ass burgers
we feel restless
somewhere inside us the treadmill grinds on

heard on radio station
a huge part of meditation is paying attention
and then it’s paying attention to where our attention is

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in bloom

goats inviting me to a performance trish shares her dream from last night
on our way to the 8:30 frisbee game
and emory demands to know more but
as is the nature of dreams, the rest is not quite re-tellable in any words
the frisbee game tha tcould go on forever because
this cool gray weather sometimes with the finest mist
is just right
and makes us feel like
we could play forever
the grape irises in bloom along the line of mailboxes
and edge of the front garden
at dancing rabbit
and how i leave with stem of candy-smelling blooms
in my hand
the small packet of honey mustard pretzels mica tosses into the passenger seat
which means i won the bet
that we never really made
about whether or not the butcher shop sells them
and, in any case, we both win as we snack our way back to sandhill
(these days known as chainmail chapel)
the slightest bursting of hte first fat edamame sprouts
pushing up through sandy soil
up and down the rows marked
with flickering flags
sawdust spilling over me as i sort/sift
through last years dahlias and how i quietly exclaim
at each sprouting tuber i find
yes!!!!! sprouts!!!!!!!!!! yes!!!!!!!!!

the whine of fast mosquitos hovering around me as i drill holes
and drive screws to install the discarded wood pegboard and shelf
rescued from the woodpile
for hanging clothes and jackets
emory showing me how the live trap works
(spring loaded, so first you push the door up and then you lock it in place
until it springs shut when triggered)
baited with cat food in hopes that we might catch the bandits who’ve been stealing their way onto the back porch for a great cat food feast

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breaking the stillness

how, after the night’s / morning’s rain
the soil of north garden
looks a deep rich dark
small stack of silver dollar pancakes
on the cooling rack on the butcher block
secret ingredient: almond extract
so sweet and easy when i’m doing the kitchen dance solo
i might like to continue this
friday tradition

ashby the gray cat and moonstar the black cat
both following me around so i decide
to take them on a walk loop
down the backroad, across the pond dam, past the hoophouse and through the little lookfar-to-whitehouse trail back
to point A
and how they saunter and pounce
through the tall grass and scramble
across the just planted fields and pant with tongues out near the end
from the exertion of the excursion
shooing the escapee chickens out of
the just planted beds in north garden
and undoing their kicking-things-up damage
again and again


the caramel with the tiny babydoll
perched on top left
by trish
in my cubby

i don’t know how it is we got to the idea
of taking new names for darien’s last week here
but i do know all of us are laughingin the kitchen about it over dinner

and the best is when tyler is doubled over at the sink at the suggestion of lieutenant reverb / lieutenant freebird as his.
and after much brainstorming and laughter,
the others are:
erik = glow
emory = shad casterson
jack (the dog) = chicago style
trish = boomer / boom boom
baigels = womp
joseph = senor captain coolant
me – scribble or lil’ scribbs
darien = zen or zendo
cynthia is not there, but the best we come up with is toolio which is not only an ode to her mastery and care of handtools, but also to coolio
and then we toss a few around to rename sandhill:
chainmail chapel 
harness heaven 
and then we each write our new names
on name tags that we stick onto ourselves

the tick i pull off my lower back
at the start of our sit
 and how i debated whether or not to move
to grab it but if i was debating about such a thing anyway
it’s just the same as breaking the stilness

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slow and light

massacre i call it
because that’s what it is…
my reckless killing of at least 50 ants on the floor
some i squish with a tissue
some i crush under my shoe and some
i press hard into the wood with my bare fingers
sia on the playlist and 
peach strawberry crisp in the oven and
toasted seeds version 2.0 in the bowl with the serving spoon
and the potatoes about to finish roasting
to set alongside the just-roasted asparagus and all with a ltitle chimichurri
to top it off
the frog walking along
the bottom edge of the other side of the kitchen sink window screen
as i wash the last of the dinner dishes
how i cannot help but but my finger
where it’s three-toed foot is
and how it moves its toes
slow and slight
watching the entire world (of growing things with stalks or trunks) bend
heavy with spring green
in the unweildy winds
that make walking the short path through the woods seem like
a bad but necessary thing

the thin carpet
of white petals
pulled down by today’s ferocious winds
onto the bright green of all
the foresty undergrowth
from the water (less) world:

An Indian man walks over the parched bed of a reservoir on the outskirts of Chennai – voice of america, day in photos

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there are trade-offs

the absolute satisfaction
of getting the near-perfect-looking tomato plants
into the beds whose weeds we recently decimated with grub hoes
and whose entire surface we mulched deep to hold in the moisture and squelch the weeds
reverse skunk is what cynthia calls the black and white cat
(all white with a black stripe down its back)
sometimes seen (mostly by her but once by me) on the northwest edge of the farm
same cat, i think, whose smashed body i bike past through the wind and light
on highway M 

there are trade-offs mica says as she sips
on the sweet grapefruit fizz
about living in a beautiful space
when i say something about the daydream
of such a collaboration

how i haul 3 gallon buckets of water
up from the pond to water the young things
in alyson’s newly formed beds by
scooping the tin can whose bottom is poked with holes
and holding it over each plantling
as the water showers out
like a hundred mini rainstorms one at a time

how i miss the sunset because i’m caught up in the catching up of 
the whole sean-spicer-hiding-in-the-bushes-after-bush-fired-comey scenario
but i do make a point of at least noticing
the different tinges of oranges and golds as they diffuse into the rest of the sky
starting at the horizon

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how we say thank you

the magnificent red and shine
of the season’s first strawberries
gleaming from under their leafy cover
almost all the pastels
in one bouquet:
light bright pink peonies
and cream/white/tineist hint of blush peonies
and some light purple thing whose name i can’t remember
and yellow irises
cut to size and placed in a just-scrubbed (to ting! kind of cleanness)
quart jar and set
in the center of the butcher block

should you care to partake i invite darien
to walk un-sandled
in the path i just dug
to feel the cool earth
on his feet
before we sit
i read the w.s. merwin thank you poem
about how through the violent assault of war, we say thank you
and through the dazzle of night stars and the melting orangesicle of the sunset we say thank you
and through gnarly car crashes and funerals, we say thank you
shannon tells me about how shawn spicer hid in the bushes somewhere
to escape the press hounding him about the comey situation
and now someone has made a spicer head printout available
that people are indeed printing out
so that when one goes out and about they keep seeing
sean spicer hiding
in the shrubbery
i spent some time today
beaming love to all those whose mothers have passed on or
were never known or
are estranged
i forgot about the mothers
separated by such things as a bullshit border
from parts of their families

A family commemorates Mother’s Day on the Mexican side of the U.S.-Mexico border in Tijuana. -voice of america, day in photos.

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ode to the ephemeral



but i do recall there were things about the luminescing moon through the treetops on a clear night as seen from the porch

and there were things about darien’s cheesy greens which he learned to make at dandelion kitchen because if you put cheese on greens (in this case, spinach) it’s quite likely that the kiddos will eat them
and there was something about life/death regarding cockroaches who only seem to crawl along the trim in my room and how i smash them ruthlessly – without a farewell or a thank you or a sorry – but let this little stanza be all of those things

there was also something about the grub hoe. how i can get into that rhythm. how at another farm, i believe we called them ozarks.

and then, the moment i lost it all, i was reopening the post to write about the soothing of using the watercolors kate gave me to decprate the envelope addressed to my mom. how i should do that more often. how i feel kate (framed over by the tiny bouquet in the little nook) stir a little bit. how much i believe in how we keep each other alive long after our spirits have moved on from this world. (the sacredness of touching this object [blue and white case, 12 different patties of paint colors] that kate once touched).

and there were things about the little orange vinyl flags that flicker in the wind marking the furrows that are no longer furrows because the pearl-like edamame seeds are planted and covered there.

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