the hot sting/burn on our fingers
near the end of the garlic fields
we move through with blue five gallon buckets,
snapping off scapes
and dropping them in


these words were written
in the middle of
twenty four hours of snowing

juniper disappearing down the back hall
scurrying with a package that just arrived
and reappearing with a tissue paper wrapped heartshape
so we take the opportunity
to lounge on the living room floorbed
and eat bon bons
still hard from the cold
juniper and i laughing
about the nervous breakdown i had
in the chips aisle at the minneapolis co-op
which is different than the nervous breakdown
i had in the library
which is different than the nervous breakdown
i had at choir practice
which is ridiculously hilarious
probably due to the fact that none of them
were actual nervous breakdowns


out the front window
watching the glittering
and swirlings of snow in the wind
after dark
while an oak leaf skitters and tumbles across the
wind-sculpted surface
from the water world:

Syrian displaced people carry water canisters in the flooded Deir al-Ballut refugee camp in Afrin’s countryside, along Syria’s northern border with Turkey – the telegraph, Credit: Rami Al Sayed/AFP/Getty Images

we move through scenes

on the walk through the weird suburbia setting

fleece leggings on under running shorts

this friolenta surprised at how 23 degrees F

can seem actually not so cold


a half hour into the train ride

from milwaukee to chicago

where we move through scenes of stripped trees (a brown that is gray) and a coating of snow,

the white giving dimension to all the browngray

chris and i discussed what we knew about what’s happening in yemen

in the car to the station

photos of children dying of starvation i said

and now, hurtling through this winter scene

john lennon’s happy xmas war is over song playing

in my headphones and how is it that this is the first time i’ve heard the war is over if you want it war is over now portion of the song after all these years (probably, thanks to the headphones – the sound so close to my ears)

and what a heart break

a grief

a withering part of the collective us

to know it’s wars instead of war and it’s never over

seems it never will be

in the moving light

the extraordinary pile of dishes we make and leave
on our way out the door to a picnic
(baskets packed) and movie outing
near the edge of the great mississippi
where its waters touch land
the click of reese’s pieces, that candy shell
bumping against candy shell in the box
eaten in the moving light
of the darkened movie theater
jokingly run by kids

the moon – how we gasp when we catch the first sight
of its rising
an unbitten peach lit up in the dark
dusty, almost
the orange red color most likely compliments of
the wildfires raging in the west

with each swift stop

the sound
of blades on ice
shaving its surface
with each swift stop
while coverall-suited players
take cracks at the puck
and the calls and whoops too
from the water world:

Men pour cold water over themselves during the annual cold water endurance ceremony, to purify their souls and wish for good fortune in the new year, at the Kanda Myojin shrine in Tokyo, Japan. – voice of america, day in photos


ami pretend-balleting down the carpeting of a downtown minneapolis skyway bridge/tunnel
just after we’ve watched the sugar plum faeries and christmas toys and the rat queen
dance across the stage – the tap of their toe shoes audible
in the quietest scenes
her eight year old telling her to stop and
a woman passing us in the other direction saying don’t stop girl
this flair
is one thing that i love
about this sister


dark grey tiny feathers
ruffling in wind
stuck to cool ranch porch slats in the morning:

the clicking/rattling of
the wood stove cast iron
as the night fire gets cranking
in order to raise the room temp up
from 45 degrees