hearts/arms to sky

in the dream, m-lo and i are
dinnering with my parents
and s/he refers across the table to me as sweetheart
which s/he follows up by asking
can i call you sweetheart?
(a term we never used)
and i say oh hell no joking

but really not caring
all of which is a gesture/suggestion
that six years later
we finally made it
through all the bullshit
_______
long morning light
casting shadows of all seven of us
(marie, nina, cynthia, annie, liat, emory and me)
lined up on the cistern and lifting our
hearts/arms to sky
somewhat synchronized
_______

cynthia standing along my mat
guides me through my
first forearm backbend
_______
perhaps a mixture of pride
and satisfaction is what to call it
(it = weighing out our harvest
[orange of carrots, dusty of potatoes,
husked wonder that is tomatillo, etc.]
and portioning into CSA boxes)
_______

when nina asks i say
this one’s for my watch and this one
is for a little vibrator we laugh
_______

like a cat on a hot tin roof
cyn says while marie and i
work our way with drills
across the tin roof we are
drilling down to the purlins
with roofing screws

we move methodically up and over

_______

box of potatoes, carrots and the smallest
array of eggplant perched/balanced on my head
as we walk the path to laura’s from which mica
points out the scarecrow in the corn patch in the distance
scene enough to stop and take it in
_______
decisions that i think
will make me feel good/better but instead
only make me feel horrible i say followed by
could be all those heavy(ish) boxes i just carried

but i feel light (for the first in a while) i say
while we circle and snack on apples and popcorn under
the swirl of ceiling fans
_______

sun bigger than sun redder-oranger
than the burn of lava and neon
as it lowers itself
flanked by cloud bouquet in the west as seen
from the back of a rusted toyota truck
hurtling down a county highway
all while a powder moon (swollen)
traces its own arc westward
_______
put a lid on it joe says
about the tallow candle left aglow on
butcher block so
i can see the slice of bread i
spread butter and liliquoi jelly on

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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