what our weeks taught us

prairie trail winds around to reveal an
an ivy-covered windmill and
unexpected pond
(signs of some previous dewlling) as i
turn the bend
_______

cicada on gravel path, unmoving
i nudge with bright orange running shoe
for signs of aliveness/deadness

_______

gypsy moth or maybe black witch moth
in the wheelbarrow alongside
wedges of wood colored to match the
symmetrical markings
alline catches it on camera
_______

i invaded your room again
meadoe alerts/informs
after we exchange some sorta smart-ass
oh-it’s-you-isms
_______
lemon san pelligrino
fizz twinkling in aluminum
while i porch perch
erasuring and chomping lunch
_______

alline shows me the
trick her aunt taught me about
how to store an avocado
(wet the napkin
wrap the half-fruit up
then place in fridge)

_______

my feet hooked under jennifer’s tube
to keep this mini-flotilla linked
_______

i twist both strands clockwise
and then twist them counterclockwise together
i explain to trish while making braid-like twists
while she carves wood out the scoop part
of her first spoon
we talk about
what our weeks taught us
_______
like a little polar bear i say
about ragweed the cat who was
the size of a teacup the last time
i saw them
_______

moon sliver huge-ening in
post-sunset dusk while ty and i
head out the the bridge and back

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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