as we drive into the shine

safety pins to pant cuffs
temporarily hemming
in pre-light in a half-heart attempt
to acheive some kind of period dress
(spanning an entire century: the 19th one)
appropriate to the folk life festival
lining the streets of hannibal missouri


a day bookended by foxes:
morning fox:
tyler points to a curl of a creature
all standstill in the goldening field
in this morning after the first freeze
steadyest fox-glimpse i’ve gathered yet
and because of this omen
followed by the bobbing white tail
of a deer heading forest-wards
we agree today
is going to be a good day
evening fox:
just a red-orange streak
illuminated by headlights

cynthia meditating between ty and i
in toyota truck cab as we
drive into the shine
of sun rising
as we pass the laughs back and forth
about our haunted haaaaayyyyyy ride
which may or may not involve
chain mail chaps

mississippi riverside sounds
of bagpipe blended with the whistle
of the train whose track
follows the water

tyler brings cyn and i
layered against the cold on the
shady side of the street
each a slice of beer bread
buttered and perched atop
paper napkin
plus sips
of his hot chocolate/coffee
steaming in cupped hand

how celia jumps up
with her hands over her mouth
after i read her the poem i just typed
for her and her 9 year old daughter jorie
(whom i call the fiery constellation
in her mama’s sky)
with tears in her eyes she says
you just killed me. i’m no good for the rest of the day.
and goes in for one of the best hugs
i’ve ever gotten from a stranger/not stranger

and how teresa tears up
at the lines about how
she spends a lot of her life
being brave without even knowing it

for exploring/learning new things
even when it means she squeaks
when practicing the cello

and how wilma holds her palm
up for mine to meet
not in a high five
but in open hand held to open hand
and says we are reflections
of each other

all this is all
i’ve ever needed
to sustain this tender-tough heart
and the magic is that
the poem is these people’s lives
(meaning they are the poems
and they have already been written
just not yet typed out and
read back to them)

she calls our mustard
(the heat of it) an attitude adjustment
this woman whose eyes won’t stop watering
because of the non-horseradish horseradish effect
and i hand her a tissue and she is laughing through
around the same time
you leave a message
sharing sentimentality
for us this time last year,
i am poeming
for a brad and abby
for their 11 month anniversary
(which is also ours
only it’s no longer called an anniversary
when one of you said months ago
the best way i can love you
is to let you go


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s