goldmaroon patches of color

the intensity of the first episode
of the four day democracy now special
recorded in western sahara
documenting the sahrawi struggle for freedom
amidst the morocco’s violent occupation/crackdown
so brutal (details of being tortured, of being beaten by police/
riot cops)
that even i (who can generally handle the brutal news of the world)
have to turn the show off a few times
for a little breather before turning it
back on again
while i wash dishes at the sink
with the window over it that looks out
into the small sideyard
and the birches up on the hill

the goldmaroon patches color
in the whitegray gravel road
from the spills of corn
harvested from the fields nearby,
some of the kernels
with their three tone color variation
looking like candy corn
the tractor/big ag farm equipment
in the road near jumping jack junction
from far away i wonder if the the tires are taller than us
and from close up, turns out that they are
a drenched and cold gray kitty
meowing at the door
taking refuge
from the weird world of rain
(after weeks of weather in the 20s/30s)
the unbelievable soreness
in my thighs (inner and back)
from jane’s unassuming workout class
that i pay for every time
i walk up a steep hill or
bend down to pick something up
or squat to sit

about the sparkleglitter

per jane’s suggestion
i grab the three pound weights
and per ann’s suggestion
i lay my mat on the old old old tile gym floor
and eventually, jane begins leading us
through some floor-based stretches
the birds i’ve been calling (come back, birds! come on!)
finally returning
in the warmed-up weather
to their seed source outside the front window:
the huge sunflower
a dead stalk by now
with the new bird feeder i made with apple
and hung on it
the closest i’ll ever be
to nursing a baby
i say about the orange kitten

zipped into my hoodie and suckling
with contentment on his stuffed animal giraffe

the amish-made (or maybe mennonite)
butterfinger-like candy
on the dining room table at lisa’s
which we clear at the end of the evening
after several rounds of line-picture-line
(featuring foxes for sale at walmart,
a hot-flash renewable energy harnessing machine,
shitshows and dumpster fires,
combat barbie and rainbow rollerskatin’ ken
to say the least)
to play a few rounds of bananagrams
i got that for you juniper says
about the sparkleglitter on the skylight
from the moisture doing whatever it’s doing
to the full moon light coming through

the dish clatter of dinner

for being not a business
i sure have a lot of administrative stuff to do

i say mostly thinking
about emails
me and a small orange kitten
curled up and falling asleep
on the bed in the back room
while the dish clatter of dinner prep
drifts in from the kitchen
the bright glow of moon
beaming through the skylight against dark night
while we eat homemade-tortilla bean delicata gaucamole tacos
another late dinner
while speaking spanish
(and in this case,
mine comes out in a first grader voice
though my level is possibly below first grade)

he fell asleep on the cake

juniper tells the story of jack
when he was young insisting
at a family gathering that
he gets to stay up for cake
that he’s not too tired
and how he fell asleep
on the cake
face in the frosting
a piano slow version
of norwegian wood that plays
while keren tends to the fascia
of my stubborn neck
and shoulders

wrapped up in scarves and warm things
past the lucy stone marker
and past a house where a kid in the driveway
is attempting to attach a small cooler
to his bike
with a strap
the tuna melt dinner
at 9:30pm
served with slices from one of the orange storage tomatos
that solé and mahogany grew and gifted
from their farm in oregon

the day turning blue

apple and i cruising the kitchenware aisle
of the ‘scary’ thrift store
locating the wooden spoons
we will use to make our plastic bottle birdfeeders
the tiniest string of tiniest rainbow lights

that i wind around the tiniest juniper tree
(i have to do it twice
to get it so that it doesn’t look like the lights
are mummifying the tree)
the day turning blue then shadow

dark enough to turn the blinky light on
as we crunch (snow) our way back up the hill
cricket rambling in and out of the woods
at our sides
before i came here
to do what we do together on monday nights
i couldn’t do what we do when we get together
shirley says
about the monday night draft and crafts

only she said it more brilliantly
but basically saying
because we made the space
and she did the showing up
she did what, before she started coming
to the group to write, she couldn’t do
(out of fear/guilt/you name it)
jennifer exlplains

while demonstrating with flailing limbs
the term for being stuck on the ground
supine with the weight of a backpacking pack
pulling one to the ground

in the crispy crispness

modifying business reply envelopes
into seed packets
with scissors and tape
while i sort through the saved flower seed
bachelor buttons
forget me nots)
and store it in aformentioned envelopes
the dusk sky pinking
and blueing and purpling
against the gold and white of snow
in the corn stubble fields
that roll up and down out
to the horizon
while apple and i walk
in the crispy crispness
to the snow-coated garden
and back
the quiche with sundried tomatoes and garden kale and mushrooms,
the apple cobbler,
the pumpkin pie
made by the one who couldn’t eat the pie
at the auction
a dinner
in pie
with special guests
who bring the salad dotted
with cranberries
ann and kevin and juniper and apple and i laughing
our guts out at the line picture lines
with boats
and baby pumpkinheads
and aliens eating strawberry ice cream

the eagles we watch

the three eagles we watch
while walking along the highway shoulder
landing in the bare tree in the back yard
of a house along J
and taking off too
the cat prints in the golf course snow
where we follow the path
and the paw prints weave on and off of it
names we give the sunset color/s:
grandma’s face powder
and strawberry dacquiri
things i yell at the oncoming cars
as we enter into our 10th, 11th and 12th  miles
of our thirteen mile walk
(split into two halves)
some of which is along the shoulder
of weirdly trafficked (for here) highways
their headlights glaring
and my reflective gear reflecting
while our blinky lights blink
when i’ve had enough
of navigating traffic
(having to dip down into the ditch
because the shoulder is not wide enough):
i hate you, cars!!!!

stop being a car! be a turtle!
go home! or if you are on your way home,
go to some other home where this road isn’t on your way!
leave us alone, go somewhere else, you poopstain!!!!!
a half marathon
juniper says
about the distance we walked today