poetry feast/find of the morning:
(a barn which is a series of poetry barns in red wing minnesota)
i am fed


mica and i take turns
between dropping handfuls of kale greens into
huge pots of water boiling
setting the timer
and dropping the boiled greens into cool water baths
and squishing out the pliable wad of them
(almost like wringing out laundry)
into a shape suitable for the
kale ’14 – labeled quart bags
fan in the window sucking hot air out
and the way the vapor that escapes the walk in
when one of us opens the door to walk in
(like a dance club/sci fi liquid smoke moment)


on a jaunt to the compost pile
carrying bucketfuls of kale-spines
peach/pink/maroon blush of apricot skin
set against the green of grass
a bite of windfall fruit
sweet and teeth-sinkable
in my mouth
this i think this pause/stopping to take in and savor
this is what being here is all about


across from me on the
screened in porch
trish re-tells teh story of
emory and cole as bad pirates
smashing a case and a half of
glass jars
on the floor of the sugar shack
with a hammer
age four


best yet i tell mica
regarding the blueberry crisp
in her re-found favorite crisp pan
(topping made with coconut oil and maple)
and the pizza
with broccoli and summer squash
cooked into the sauce


thomas and i
bike grease on our hands as we
reassemble clyde (the glitterhorse)
in the workshop
the story of missing nut/bolts
and quick-release skewerss


more shimmering than magic
but not quite enraptured as ecstatic
and most certainly hands down the best
shower of my life:
unlayering in the entryway
to step outside with a bar of soap in my hand
after a humid/hot day
of bug spray and sweat-sheen
(clothes still sweat wet)

the way the storm drops glitter/glint in the lightning
and the cool relief that comes
when water hits skin
wet/soft grass underfoot


lightning bug blinks
(a kind of morse coding)
weaving through tree tops
under a storm sky
illumination on illumination






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