building our lives

the butterfly that lands
on my forearm in the potatoes in lookfarther
(butterfly, i know, because of how it rests
with wings closed)
mottled/spotted shades of brown

emory holding the snakeskin lengthwise
to compare/measure it to his own height
of four-foot something
from which we determine the 5-footness
of the snake that left its skin
how a grin a big-smile grin
when stan says the kale chips are so amazing
it’s the same grin-smile-grin
i wear when mo talks about
sipping on the tomato juice
(to which stan replies that he’s always got a jar
open in his room)
maybe it’s pride
but maybe it’s more like me coming around
to take some credt
maybe it’s more like letting myself believe it’s working
(meaning – we did/do this,
we are building our lives
and doing it well)
ginger tea in thermos
and strawberries and quinoa for dinner
(some kind of bug unfurling its tendrils in my stomach,
in the ache in my bones)

how for a second, i fumble trying
to get the trellis-weaving 
in the young tomatoes in south garden
and then
under the hot sun/windy sky
my muscle memory kicks in
i wanna dance with somebody
i wanna feel the heat with somebody
trish in the barbara shirt singing
with the hoe in her hand as we
work our way up/down the beds and rows
of potatoes
dandyciino chickspresso
cyn serves up three mugs
(of roasted dandelion and chickory
brewed up in the stovetop espresso maker thing)
and sets them on the porch table


is it ok if i refer to someone as butch ty asks
ok by me, i respond, as long as you give me their number


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