enter the sparklefest

how i don’t remember her name
but i do remember she grew up in madison,
we take turns holding the ladder
while we work our way up/down the greenhouse
drills in hands
screw by screw removing the
lath-like strips of wood
that hold the huge sheet of insulating plastic
to the roof
how we balance and teeter and strip screws and
dodge wasps in the process,
how rad it feels to be encouraging/supporting her
best i know how
in some of her early moments of power-tool using
(press into and perpendicular are my two main tips)

_______

should spraypaint them hotpink i say
of the drill bits that keep
jumping ship
_______

how each sandhillian who
walks through the kitchen door is wowed
by the knox college students’ slices of watermelon
because even when our watermelons do grow
they look nothing as big or as red or juicy as this
_______
love loom moe says
at the kitchen sink about
the loom she just picked up from
a woman in town
whose husband made it for her
years ago
_______

joseph’s deer-blood covered hands
on the phone
on the steering wheel and i make a joke
about getting a hold of some sani-wipes
_______

asparagus spears
oiled and sweating
set on butcher block along with
the quinoa-rice
veggie masala
coconut oil/soy sauce garbanzo beans
tomato apple chutney
and toasted seeds
_______
somewhere between justin bieber and the chromatics
she calls and we briefly
spirit/voice-collide
over tepary beans
and aleksandra’s release and

the delight/celebration of
catching each other now and
how maybe i can deliver the saved seeds myself
to the pima county library system
_______
hammock-curled with the tassajara bread book
in my hands, reading until the light
is still alive in the western sky but
too dim to read by
enter the sparklefest of lightning bugs
flickering amongst trunks and branches
enter the softest breeze pulling itself
over my bare feet
enter the smell of baking granola
drifting out of the open kitchen window
enter full-body contentment and how i tell
the north garden mulch, the juniper branches
spreading out above me, the last light in the sky
how much i love my life/this moment in my life and
how grateful/lucky i am
_______
while the intro to the tassajara bread book
is obnoxious because
mention after mention of bread baker after bread baker
(friends, mentors),  are all men,
it also says this:
baking bread will help you connect
with everything; it may take years, but…

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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