we roll through

cookies! for breakfast!? i declare/ask
in response to the wax-paper lined tray
with last night’s peanut/almond (flat and chewy = delicious) chocolate chip cookies
on the butcher block

_______

the look on my face
when rya asks
if i am still a practicing catholic
(and the appreciation
for assumptions not being made/questions asked)
while we roll through the missouri hills
blonde-stubble fields flanking us
under an overexposed sky

_______

five of us
move like machinery
(but warmer, with more unpredicability and nuance)
through the studio
developing a rhythm:
roll ink onto the block
place it on the press (next to others if the timing aligns) with the print paper and newsprint on top and
put carefully to bed under three wool blankets
roll through by turning the crank and catch the bed  on the other side so it doesn’t slam
extracting the blocks and the prints from the bed
and placing them in the proper row of in-progress decks
on the table

_______

you just gotta hit it i tell tia
who takes a turn at the collective story writing
on the royal quiet deluxe
while we remember
word processors
typewriters with the ball of letters instead of the keys
the machines we learned to type on
_______

i am the beginning
and the end
kris says
behind the typewriter at the hexagonal table

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