under the porch stars

in the dream
i was in trouble with lavina
for teaching a young amish man
how to drive a car
(which was somehow speeding/driving
some daring route i’ve seen before
in a movie
so i knew to tell him where not to switch lanes
and when his visibility would be nearly zero
but i did say oh shit at the border
because i forgot there was a border there
but somehow, he transformed the
framed clock
into some certificate or diploma or something
that granted him the you’re fine wave on
the swirls of mosquitos

that find us everywhere
(the kale, the romanesco, the beets, the lunch break spot, etc)
on this randomly 80 degree day
after days and days in the 60s –
summer’s last gasp
sleeveless and barefoot
celebrating the breeze on my bare limbs
under the porch stars
juniper and i gazing up
while a few windchimes ting
a few notes into the mellow night

light song and light bodies

the green! of all that
whoooshed parsley
becoming chimichurri in the food processor
and the jars
labeled chimi 2019
stacked in the chest freezer

how i eeew when the unusual piece of gravel
i reach for at the side of the road
surprises me by being soft
and almost tugs back
because ki was not a rock, but a mushroom
the mostly black cat
with a white nose and white kerchief
and a white paw or two
that appears on the gravel road
after juniper says imagine the white-nosed kitty

cedar waxwings,
light song and light bodies
flying overhead
from tree tip to tree tip
while the creekwater runs and gurgles
feet from our feet

one of the season’s last sweat bees
on the zipper flap
of juniper’s rain jacket
as we stand overlooking
read’s creek
thinking about
how land is formed
by earth and growth and water – moving

especially the crickets

in the dream
our guests were on the lower level
as i saw a tree glide by
out the window
(reddish purpleish leaves)
and realized our house (trailer)
was afloat
on a body of water so vast, there were no
other signs of humans, except for a barn top,
the rest under flood waters

in the dream
lisi-cat emerged
oily and otter-like
from a red vent/piping
in the floor
so that’s where you’ve been
coming in from i say

in the dream
dad points to a map… peru, ecuadoar, panama
as he talks about a cruise
to alaska
she made my heart sing

students singing around the porch table
alongside the sound of  everywhere-crickets
and the sound of some vehicle backing up
in the distance with a lawn mower going
somewhere in there too

how i want to hold on
every year
to all of this,
especially the crickets
and especially the leaves still on the trees
and especially wind in hair without a hat on
and especially sun on skin
and especially kid sounds, exclamations
and laughter, coming from the sidewalk
as they pass
in short sleeves and stripes
and especially boots-off
and especially beans still coming in,
gold and green, from the garden

celebrating the farm weekend

sipping from the the non alcoholic margarita (pretty much a smoothie),
mango flavored while juniper sips from
the margarita without salt
and soon ann sips
from her bottomless horchata cup
celebrating the ‘farm weekend’
before the ‘school week’ begins
(since i farm
monday through wednesday
then wednesday night is the farm weekend
before the thursday-and-friday teaching ‘week’

cinematic swirls

not the same as the unweaving i’ve done
of the baling twine holding up the tomatoes at sandhill:
instead of untying and rolling it up for next year,
we slice the twine at each Tpost,
keep the plants standing,
and pull the twine into bins
that we leave in the dumpster
the bright red of blood
at the tip of andrew’s finger
turns out those knives are sharp he says
and i unwrap a bandaid
the cinematic swirls of leaves
in the wake of the two dumptrucks
(first one red, second one blue)
on the road in front of me
hauling their massive weight
around the highway’s curves and bends
the amber light
glowing on the weather radio
for a tornado watch
that goes from 7pm until midnight
while the temperature drops outside
the feeling of bruises
(hurts  like a bruise, but no bruise visible)
on my forearms
from hauling the hemp harvest
(plants with stalks like trees)
out of the field
and up the barn steps
over and over again

strong and sustained

how someone said on the radio show the other day
that all the monarchs you see now are the ones
who will be making the great migration to mexico
wish them well travels the show host said
and so today
to each monarch
glowing orange against blue sky
that i see
i say buen viaje! travel safe! have an amazing journey,
may you remain strong and sustained

because i want the light to last forever

potatoes parboiling
in stainless steel pot
while onions and red pepper sizzle in the skillet
while i crack eggs
into a bowl
and juniper cuts up tomatoes

you’d think we’d have figured it out by now
juniper says about the eternal
salt-clumping-in-the-shaker problem
that is sometimes solved by rice
but sometimes not
the photo of jane goodall
that gina sends
saying her and i have the same
gentle eyes
couch-curled in a snoogle
as we wait
for the skinless rabbits
to arrive
the crunchy scabs
atop lisi-cat’s head
and by his neck/ears
i say something like
i thought you were done with
stuff (fighting) like that
noticing how, generally, i don’t mind dusk
but fall dusk (which would work as a knuckle tattoo: fall dusk)
is hard
because i want the light
to last forever