like truckers after hours of driving
mom, dad and i stand to eat
our oatmeal breakfast
complete with asian pears chopped in
leaning into the butcher block as
steam rises from essential oil orange tea

over miso soup we laugh about
joe giving the state-of-the-union address
live from the lab
and cruising on a motorcycle
with air force one
painted on the side
upon discovering his fec presidency

shadow of trish’s body
on a ladder as seen through
hoophouse plastic, sun brillianting
behind her, sound of staple gun
fastening plastic to frame

my mama tiger’s coming out
trish says in the back seat
of ruthie where
the rawness, when given attention,
shows itself

not actual muppets but
a cartoon version of muppets as babies
ziggy, cyn and i laugh
while trying totremember/figure out
exactly what the muppet babies were

cynthia guides us to
the massive oak by
the creek where our
respective animals
(a painted turtle, a crow/fly,
a monarch/hint of a fox)
make their visitation

my nose to the softness of
moonstar – how i smell the crispness
of night in her coat
even half-an-hour after
she’s been inside

blend of tyler and cynthia’s voices
humming/singing through
shared bedroom wall


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