we write a mountain

swainson’s thrush (or salmonberry bird)
mo names the bird and makes the call
in the future tomato beds as we weed and mulch
for the pacific northwestern bird i’ve been
trying to identify by its call for years now
and mo imitates perfectly
what it is to finally have a name for something
and how the sound of that call
takes me directly to every single pacific northwestern forest
i’ve ever loved which gives me
a serious case of the chills
_______
liquidy mo describes the song
of the black birds up in the tall trees
that line the road and i run
to grab the binoculars and guess
starling but it’s hard to tell
for sure and then the burst of orange
taking off in oriole style
across the orchard to the oaks
on childer’s hill
_______
mo and i laughing and laughing on the
front porch couch as we

write a mountain (on scraps of paper)
of four letter words for a new take on
the knuckle tatt game of chance
to be used at tomorrows facepaint booth
several options we select:
cool blue
rock wave
boot fire
sick bird
hard nets
_______
ty and baigz practicing the hava nagila
on trombone and trumpet respectively
in the living room after lunch
_______
after passing around samples
(small crackers broken into quarters)
of the three cracker flavors i baked today
(1. onion and toasted sesame/sunflower
2. sun dried tomato and wild garlic
3. pesto)
we take a vote and pesto comes in first
onion second and sundried tomato
straggling in at the end
_______
a collander of oranges so orange
they are almost the shine of light
later, sliced open and cut into
i devour each burst of juice and sweet slice
_______
can’t stop staring i say
at this photo of you in your
red tie and black button up, poolside
holding open the scandalous 50 shades of chicken book
and when i hang up
the word for what happens these days
when we voice collide
is affirming
_______
the insistence of the black scuttly spider

thick and decently sized
who i scoop up with a stainless steel cup and piece
of cardstock and toss out the window
returns one time and one more time again
after that
zipping across my quilt

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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