on the rise of her

liana how-are-YOUs
the grocery store greeter
(in that sunspill-of-light
way that she does)
who sits with his head leaning
in his chair
_______

she salutes the orchids
deep purple
magenta streaked
_______

kid with cartoon crabs
printed red on blue jacket
plucking dinosuars from
the build-your-own terrarium station
_______

superhero outfit or tennis dress
i ask after exiting the dressing room
to reveal the swooshed dri-fit
light blue gold print
_______
ruth gilmore the salvation
army cashier says
i know that name i reply
she writes about prisons
she explains
_______

in the newly-moved-into kitchen
we make to do with
a tiny cutting board and
tv tables for counters
_______
slipper socks for all
april delivers
on this grainy (gray/rainy) late afternoon
_______

they make me so happy i say, almost crying
about the flower beds
and the plants in them
i could almost cry right now
_______

it’s so sweet and ends
with this beautiful heat
april says about the raspberry
chipotle chutney
while we chomp our
piles of nachos
and special delivery
brat-fest vegan brats
_______

first we shake
to get the ink going on the
ceramic-ware pens
and then we craft
canoes and vags and
lady gardens onto
a set of ceramic mugs
_______

the dangerous combo
of acro-yoga and
slippery unicorn leggings
resulting in laugh-fest on
living room floor
_______
cuddle-curled
chin perched on the rise
of her ribs we talk
ourselves towards
dream-time

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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