orangesweet

small jar of apricot jam
made from the fruits of our tree
contents glowing orangesweet and
quickly disappearing into morning
pancakes

_______

in grad school, the victories were never clear
i write on thin blue paper
soon to be folded and addressed to san diego

_______

red cardinal
perched on electric line
across the way

_______

stillness textured by
the trickledrip sound
after the rain has passed
of water at the gutter-rigged catchment
outside the greenhouse

_______

trish sets the water to boil
doles out the dried peppermint
for althea’s aching stomach

_______

for dinner (chopped and slow cooked and
spiced and mixed by my hands)
veggie masala (with cabbage, carrots and potatoes
plus garbanzos on the side)
cucumber raita
rice
salad and lemon tahini dressing
prepared to sounds from the
quietwarm softslow soundtrack
including but not limited to
teratoma
antony and the johnsons
fever ray
blonde redhead
otis redding
yann tiersen
rachel’s
rasputina
devotchka
with a one-song interruption
so emory can show his michael jackson moves
to the visitors

_______

you can really taste the sweet
tyler says
of the guests’ water kefir
that makes a celebratory pop
when we open the bottles
orange lemon flavor
_______

what should the title be mica asks
let’s get ripped i respond
(which reminds me of liz
and our adventures to the gym
in that place that both of us have probably
mostly tried to erase from our memories)
and so it is
a triathalon training calendar
where purple = run
blue = swim
and green = bike

_______

mica’s frog sounds
echoing back from the
freshly filled pit
at the cistern site

_______

fog so thick on sunset walk
the bugs must mistake it for rain
because nary a one lands on me
or buzzes in my face
or bites me
the entire way there or back

IMG_3496

IMG_3499

IMG_3533

_______

darien and i
approach, pass each other and recede
on the back road
under a fog shroud
slightly pinked
flanked by the glow of all the greens

_______

from the water world:

 potd-pilgrimage_2981128k
A Hindu devotee takes a dip as she collects holy water from the Bagmati river during the Bol Bom pilgrimage in Sundarijaal on the outskirts of Katmandu, Nepal.
Picture: Niranjan Shrestha/AP – telegraph

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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