a visit with the whirlwind

the first forehands
i threw well in a ‘game’ by
tricking myself to somehow
just not think about it
margined blister beetles
(the black of them
cut in half with a gray stripe)
congregating in the tomatoes
how i shake them from the leaves and stop them
into the mulch
how sometimes i remember to thank them
and more often i forget
the bright yellow of
the sweet corn kernels still
on the cob as mica scoops them
with a sieve from the hot pot
to transfer them to
the cold bath
in the past i just kept showing up
so hard (battle-like)
but this time,
i’m just going to show up
as i am
i tell mica while scrubbing dishes mid-shift
at the sink
about an upcoming visit
with the whirlwind
there-not there,
full of so much light i wanted to be,
mother language of vagueries,
mistaken for a gemini)


not what i expected matt says about
walking in on me at the butcher block chopping
cabbage and listening to gregorio allegri’s
misrere mei deus and later he hands me a scrap of paper
with mass in g major – francis poulenc
written on it
primo spot i call out
to henry’s parents
who sit with him in the hammock while i
for the final dinner preparation
harvest a handful of strawflowers,
a dahlia, and a few celosia

emory holding a cross section
of watermelon
bigger than his face up
in the kitchen

front row seats i say to cynthia
and her cello about cynthia and her cello
(is there a word for the way she moves that bow
between notes
a lilt
a swoon
a small grief)
from where moonstar and i
cuddle-curl in the hammock


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