and all the red

the tiniest trickle i climb up
to investigate whether spring or creek
while michelle hangs out below with monkey and kali
and all the red rock on the way
and the shine of mica
that is mostly irresistable
the hand-painted banner flapping near the top
of the land where the top of the nearby ridge can be seen
its letters read: womyn’s land
since 1979
dykes, bi, straight

plopped on the ground in a patch of sun
we reach in our bags for snacks
and she passes me, brought back from turkey
the best dried apricots/figs/strawberries ever

an occasional ping! pop! now and then
the pots that were taken out of the kiln yesterday
still talking
over tea and ginger cake
on the big couches in the lounge
on kate and i’s last night
and most of the crew is here
i tap out typewritten odes
on notecards
including the ode to the river otter
and an ode to four minutes and an ode
to a maiden voyage


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