shedding luminescenses

plunk of black currants
landing in the bottoms of
plastic buckets
we choose the ones that
don’t resist
the ones that no longer shine

tug-of-warring in the hoophouse
only it’s not really war i say
even though it is, botanically speaking
bare handed ripping stubborn roots
of lambs quarters
from earth
smears of soil/mud
across the mosquito-itchy spots
while we weed our way up/down
the onion beds
time to tuck that scorpion tail

of yours away trish suggests
yogurt-covered raisins and bowl of popcorn
that we keep swooping in towards and away from

we mix tarot decks and i pull
the hermit shedding her
luminescence from
the lantern in her hand

dagny comes around for a hug
from each of us

says she can’t find her shirt and
is sure her shoes are in the car

squishing cabbage-loopers
(soft green small caterpillars
that munch on brassica leaves
ruthlessly) with bare fingers
how their insides squish out
i remember how i used to have to
keep a leaf between me and the death
how i used to say sorry to every spirit

(which makes me think
of a possible thesis project
examining the mechanisms/tools/practices
that remove humans from the death
they inflict for instance: operating a bomb-dropping drone
over residential buildings in iraq
from a crisp cool office in
clouds like topo lines
radiating out from
horizon and following curve of sky
pinker and pinker
towards the east
and oranger and oranger
towards the west
why have one sorghum/peanut butter toast snack
when you can have three? i munch
on one end of the phone while honna
reports while packing up in north carolina
on the other


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