rattled inside

raising mostly-open kitchen blinds
as high as they possible can and the
resulting sun that rectangles itself
along the surface of counter and sink
with this still-congested voice
i read from one time zone into another
the words of chrystos’s i like a woman who packs

an exultation of (meadow)larks
gina says in her sauvie island birding reportback
a hundred herons
unable to recall the tea’s proper name
i ask for the pink tea, the citrusy one
whose ruby color
poured into clear glass mug
is worth it alone
and whose tangy clear taste
is an extra bonus
turn these diamonds straight
back into coal
– overheard lyric from a song which
turns out to be the stable song by gregory alan isakov
while i ink words
onto postcards
smudge of blue chalk
on sidewalk i run over
hopscotch squares
with arrows and directions
and how it makes me smile just as much
as my previous (first) encounter
the mini cherry tart whose crust
could use a little more salt
sliced into four pieces and its
pink-sprinkled heart cookie
set aside on the same table
as the orange metal japanese tea warmer
flicker of candle flame heating the
chrysanthemum, lavender and third herb i can’t remember tea
shiz, jess and i sip from our
small handle-less cups
held round in our palms
what gets rattled inside me when i come across
this photo from a collection of photos by thomas kiefer
of confiscated personal belongings
found in the trash at the immigration detention center
in ajo, arizona
is difficult to name but something about
encountering this image
after having seen this very construction
of fabric-wrapped black water bottles
in the arroyos of ajo desert myself
after having picked them up, empty
after having meal after meal
at the same table with those who were crossing
a remove of the remove
a sharp startle of not unlike seeing someone i recognize
on the nightly news
a double take
a rattle that
shakes me out of my body and then
pulls me back in again


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