our lungs at work

i’m holding the gem of us
and the work/idea/plan/hope
is to keep my eye on its gleam
cutting through all the other noise
banging to get in i say leaning
on forearms on butcher block
_______

we laugh about the thought of
(welcome to) fist city knuckle tatts
as honna pits some damson plums and i
scrape cucumber seeds from flesh
fist city as in knuckle sandwich
fist city as the shape one can take
curled up inside another

_______

manila folder of writing workshop magic
word scraps spilling out aflutter
in ceiling fan circulations
on couch cushion between
honna and i as we write
into our lap-perched notebooks
_______
somewhere i was taught
that land doesn’t migrate
only its creatures do
movement- swift as a river re-routing
slow as the bones we are made of
giving themselves back to soil
i began at the water’s edge
which is always shifting
meaning the exact point can’t be pinned
same as where we were
when we first dreamt us
and by us i mean
where you first dreamt you
and i first dreamt me and
each of us first dreamt we
there is a picture of our pairs of feet
in zig-zaggy patterned socks and two-tone boots
at the edge of the rolling rio grande
same edge now submerged under the rise of
summer’s excessive stormings
the shape of the  lake i was born next to
(michigan)
is not the same shape it was
39 years ago
not the same shape it was last week
i write

_______

new information i say
in the back seat to mica
it takes a while to sink in
and we segue into a round of
when i was young
i was the sun
shining through the trees
onto the ground
when i was young
i was a mountain….
_______

and now for something completely different i joke
about taking the back way
to dancing rabbit which
looks not completely different at all
than the front way
_______

little collisions of kale and i
in path of the frisbee
our faces red our lungs
at work
_______

honna, mica, emory and i
howling whoah-oh we’re halfway there
oh-oh! livin on a prayer
out sedan windows as we roll
up gravel drive
_______
living room karaoke we
pass the mic around the couches
in our costumery opening with
livin on a prayer and closing with
stand by me/blue moon
and middled with tyler
singing achy breaky heart
(tell your brother Cliff whose fist can tell my lip
He never really liked me anyway)
and that cheeseburger song
_______

trish’s skirt-as-disco ball
casting sequin shines onto ceiling
off honna’s mini projector shining
lyrics onto thumbtacked sheet
_______

the magic of a microphone we joke
about having one at all times
calling out across the kitchen circle
or out in the potato fields you! love you!
like a standup comedian

talking to the
half-empty din
_______
nina singing into a half-carved spoon mic
following up with an apple-powered
guten nacht

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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