from a potter’s front porch

it will be a little thin in the beginning
matt says at the greenhouse

about the pay before the season picks up
and mama nature is still doing a lot of the watering
how i gasp
at the great bright streak of bird
dead on the gravel shoulder before me
its color stunning (oriole-ish)
(and later, the death count rises to four birds
one squirrel
one raccoon
and two collections of scattered bones (some smashed and some whole),
white in the complete absence of muscle, sinew, skin or organ
that tree looks like it’s wearing a tutu
she says of the apple tree

seen at a distance from the front windows
whose lower branches are white with blossoms
while the rest of it on up is green-leafed
get curious about what works for others
and hold onto what works for you.
hold the width of your body,
your sides, your ears, the outsides of your feet
breathe and find your edges
bruin says
give yourself permission to become undone – lean into it

not mint and not seafoam and not green and not blue and not white
but somewhere amongst all of it,
wrapped in brown kraft paper,
the beautifullest soup bowls and
frankie mug carried back on bike
from a potter’s front porch
so you can sip your tea out of clay