it’s the recipe

baigz and cynthia and i
hauling the cart out to the heartland
filled with a chainsaw and acoutremonts
and then hauling it back in again
with the oak logs that we will drill holes into and fill
with mushroom plugs
how i say thank you and sorry to the tree
same as i say to the ants i mash
to keep my room and critter-free as possible
_______
let it go where it wants to
(rather than forcing it, with judgement, to go where you think it should) bruin says
of the shoulder that always feels hunchy and wrong
shore up those practices now he says
create these rhythms now in your body when you can
_______
i would like to use the word unfurl for what trish and dottie and eventually darien and i
do with the metal mesh fence
akwardly attached to the tposts
that we disentagle from years of non-use
then haul with a cart and by carrying
and then hold/place and pound in
to the pea beds
wrong materials i say speaking especially
to the unnecessary weight
_______
the smell of cynthia’s granola
drifting out the whitehouse window
as we clean the dirt of the hoes and shovels
outside the garden shed
_______
the maroon/red and yellow
of the first columbine blooms coming up
in what used to be the echinachea bed
and maybe still is
_______

not only are caroline’s from-scratch tortillas good
but i love that it’s the recipe from her mom which her mom learned from her mom

from the water world:

An Indian tribal woman reacts after an earthen pot filled with water falls off her head during a 100-meter sprint event with water pots on heads, in the Suwori Tribal festival in Boko. – voice of america, day in photos

Indian youths play in the water with their herd of buffaloes in the Tawi River on a hot day on the outskirts of Jammu. -voice of america, day in photos

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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