one last chapter

one last chapter
of harry potter i read
outloud on the couch
to my mom’s healing knee
and to dad and juniper
before we make our way
with packed bags
into the city
sidewalking around town,
the novelty of a gluten free bakery (though closed),
a comic shop,
a sex toy shop

the cool yule cd playing
in peter’s car as we drive through
the xmas lights of miller valley
and later the fire crackling
in his living room fireplace
fed by the wood he brought
for just this occasion


i’m a kapusta fan jennifer says
at the wigilia table
where the places are set with the
fancy-folded christmas tree shaped napkins
suburban though it is
the cool air on my face
as i brisk-walk the ponds and
bendy roads
of regal manors east
the curled-in brown of the resurrection plant
unfurling and turning green
in a bowl of shallow water

we’re home

on the way out of town
i hand over the green green alfalfa sprouts
in a ziploc bag
and laura hands me a cinnamon roll
on a rectangle of white waxed paper
we’re home!  i say
after we are guided to our sleeper car
and plop our bodies and our bags into the seats
the paper solstice boats
that physically, we didn’t get to making
though in spirit
i’m sending mine down the clear cold currents
of reads creek

happy whatever

happy whatever bruin says at the end of our call
in regards to the slew of wintry holidays approaching
not in a dismissive manner, but in an attempt at inclusivity

happy happy he says and we hang up laughing

the pit pat of rain spit spatting
on the carport and the quickly melting snow
when i step outside
on this almost-solstice day
when we meant to put boats in the water
but there was singing and
so much to-do to do

the singing begins
with a song from georgia (the country, not the state)
that is a song to a spring
that had run dry

expecting a tsunami

the grass, the fields, the once snow-packed road
revealing themselves again
in this december thaw
everything dripping
and news coming in
from the state of washington
of a tornado touching down
(where tornadoes rarely touch down
which makes me ask if
i should be expecting a tsunami any day here
in the midwest)

taking in the pink-everything

weeee-ooooh weeeee-oooh weeeeee-oooooh
juniper making siren noises

outside the office door to tell me
that this is an alert of the pink sky system
before leading me down the hallway to the front windows
to take in the pink-everything sunset
a world dipped in pink like an easter egg,
a fabric of pink flapped out and draped over us
like the fabric of a fort being built,
clouds airbrushed
pink pink pink with light and blue and pink

the slow movement akin to

the bits of dream scrap
that fade in and out again
as i lay on the table
face down
while keren does the rib roll
the slow movement something akin to tai chi

juniper and kevin and ann and i
laughing in the co-op parking lot
about the how-many-minutes phenomena:
how many minutes into a conversation
will it be until juniper mentions
katie bowman or minimalist shoes
vs. how many minutes into a conversation
will it be until i make a fart joke