even in a parka with a scrappy backpack on

awake before the alarm
clear, grounded, open, focused
how this qualities follow me/thread themselves
through the bending and arcing called yoga,
through the forking and tossing of hay called mulching
through the gathering around
words printed on a page
in the quiet of the mercantile at 9:30am
those peonies
i say to cynthia

about the wrappedpink buds
are about to pop
just like that other day
with lots of wind and bright sky
and all the layers of green against its blue
today is the most perfect day of the year
and i can’t help but to stop at several places
on the bike ride home
to take pictures of
how everything is coated
in a layer of light how everything
is kinetic

make/take a mantra with you
i encourage trish who is about to embark
on a journey ending in trump-landia, family style
it’s not quite a dance
or an exclamation
but it should be,
the lowering of the final tomato
into the ground
sitting on the grass
with binoculars (because i can rest my elbows
on my knees to keep the lenses steady)
i focus in on the bird that sings a million songs
(speckled and brown with a long beak)
perched in the branch of a black locust
and later come to discern, with the birdbook,
its brown thrush identity
how i get livid
at dinner on the front porch
about how each one of us (female-socialized)
has a story (multiple stories)
of being approached/harassed/stalked
by men
even in a parka with a scrappy backpack on
in the winter
and say it doesn’t matter how short
your shorts/my shorts are
it’s your/my fuckin body



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