the days between

the red streak of the woodpecker
before it dives in front of the grill
in portland
i almost hit a squirrel on my bike

i say


mica’s sourdough leftover pizza
in a pyrex
i grab a slice of suitable size
and hand it over to the driver’s side

67 i guess for the
high-performance fabric
blue plaid shirt at the bike shop
that mica holds by the hanger hook
while we wait for the bike to come off the stand
nope, 80 she says


let’s roll i guess for what
clyde the glitterhorse is saying
from the bike rack
glinting rear cassette, new chain and
sheen/smell of fresh grease


corn corn corn mica says/sings
on the highway between here and there
(homebound trip)
illustrating what we see to the right then
soy soy soy to the left
to which i respond sky sky sky
then tree tree tree
oh, um, wait – tree
(about the brief treeline
we move along)


the poet has arrived i announce/joke
in my best uppity poet accent
to alline in the kitchen while i
step through the mercantile doors
10 days worth of work and clothes
in my backpacks


alline points to the sign in the bathroom
that asks guests not to use hair dryers
because their power system (solar and wind generated)
can’t support that
but if a guest does needs support
they can go find a mercantile staff person
who will tell them that they look beautiful
just the way they are


ladder leaned against east roof of allium
rachel and i climb up and
face north/west
sunset bleeding through treeline


rachel explains the days between
rosh hashanah and yom kippur
(everyone is spending so much time
praying for forgiveness in the 8 days of
‘he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake’
that they don’t have time to eat (fasting))
a stainless steel bowl of diminishing popcorn
(seasoned with tarragon, salt, nutritional yeast and soy sauce)
between us on the black cushiony couch


the novelty of neighbors:
sound of people walking past
gravel under sandals/shoes,
voices rising to my open window
fringed by the chorus of
crickets, wind turbine hum/whistle and the occasional
call of a coyote lifting up out of the prairie


from the water world:

Hindu priests sit in cauldrons of water and rose petals as they perform the “Parjanya Varun Yagam”, a special prayer for rain, in the western Indian city of Ahmedabad. – voice of america, day in photos

1 Comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

One response to “the days between

  1. I love the world you live in, anywhere and everywhere you are.

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