the world is a chaotic breech

in morning sun we
front-porch it with
tupperwares of sorghum seed
and trays of coir+ mix
dimpling with our fingers
before dropping three
each in every indentation
sometimes discussing
sometimes a hush falls
_______
our last name should
be sparkles say to cole
(age 7) who, every time she sees me
looks for the sparklyness
in my outfit
(today, it was the silver threads
in my pink-white-silver-stripe pee rag)
then we could be sisters
in the sparkles family
_______
some of the many
resonant words from
pomegranate doyle speaking
in her podcast:
just remember: prayer and cursing
are the same thing, except
the intention is different
_______
i call her glitterpot
she calls me rainbow sequin
i call her peacock feather
and iridescent dragonfly wing
_______
scooping quarter-spoonfuls
of sandhill milkshake
(milk, sorghum, frozen strawberries/peaches)
with gigantic spoon while
alyssa says three each
about the bean burgers
_______
lightest blue
cracked-open half shell
ground-found
whilst stoop-sitting
near outdoor shower
_______
sun spilling an orange-gold
on newly green leafing-outness
while shua brings up
ways to go about
relationships that
allow him to continue
maintaining his self-ness
_______
the flew into
(as in entered)
my back tookie says
of the dream birds
_______
the world is a chaotic breech
and i don’t know how much
say we get

_______
it’s nice she says
under a pink sky so glaring
it’s almost improper
to have a brave bold ruffian
on deck

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1 Comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

One response to “the world is a chaotic breech

  1. K Wayne

    here’s one for you frankie:

    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.

    Ross Gay is a gardener and teacher living in Bloomington, Indiana. His book, Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, is available from University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015.
    (via blackcontemporaryart)

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