erasuring back

sun bursting in morning windows
onto pale blue living room walls
in an iowa city house
on dodge street
whispered seriousness
drifting in on coffee wafts
from kitchen
_______

corinne in safety glasses
chair perched with
orbital sander held to
gallery walls
we spend the morning
erasuring back to flat white
_______

click of my boots down
partitioned-off hallway
where art and i
journey to the wood shop
where we say hi and thanks to
the metal-head guy who hi and thanks’s
us back
talking writerly
as it applies in a real way to our
real live/work worlds
_______

uncapping zinc sunscreen stick
and gliding its solid white across
pinksmooth of mica’s
wrist scar sun-exposed
at the steering wheel
_______

somewhere between where we
exited from i-27 and turned onto
highway A mica points out
the church marquee that reads:
they’re not suggestions
they’re commandments
_______

on mica’s side of the fabius bridge
three mennonite women down below walking
along river/creek bed
each a similar body size
in a different pastel
further down highway m, a flock of more
pastel dresses wind-billowing
women gathered at baseball field
pitching and swinging
and just past that
a trampoline in a yard
filled with bouncing pastels
braided girls plus
men in crisp dark colors gathered around
(cars of dark colors gathered around them)
_______

a return to the key-to-paper punch sound
of the Royal Quiet DeLuxe
thinking it is not a coincidence
that home is the name for
the row of letters where my fingers rest
_______

ashby the cat
perched at my side on the
spearment bed rock while i
loosen the roots of weeds
sun going all tangerine
through the trunks and branches silhouetting
(how i learned on sauvie island in 2000
that weeds are not specific plants, necessarily,
but totally subjective
in other words – whatever i don’t want growing
in the garden bed
is considered a weed
even if, as in this case, it’s the edible
and fantastic wild garlic and wild onion)
_______

honna draws a hat and bowtie
holds them up respectively
to her head and neck
while i laugh my taped-on curlique mustache off
on skype in imitation/’analog’ google-hangout-draw-style
_______

wherein i leave
these patches and notes
in the cubbies of ty, tookie and baigz
as commemoration of
us surviving and the forest surviving
our newbie prairie burn fiasco
IMG_8245
_______

wherein i read the following poem in my inbox
written by ross gay and think about
a hammer hitting a nail square on its head
the usefulness of such a tool
and the satisfaction of such a tool
doing what it has been built to do
so well:

A Small Needful Fact

Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
perhaps, in all likelihood,
he put gently into the earth
some plants which, most likely,
some of them, in all likelihood,
continue to grow, continue
to do what such plants do, like house
and feed small and necessary creatures,
like being pleasant to touch and smell,
like converting sunlight
into food, like making it easier
for us to breathe.

 

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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