Tag Archives: food

folded like a passed note

two peaches in my pockets
an apple in each mug and
hot chai tea in the red pot
that i carry to cool ranch
between cat feeding and garden partying
had to wait until we settled
into each others’ orbit
she says about me finally waking up
with my head on right ready
to get shit done
the meager final bean harvest
plunked into eric and i’s buckets
and the plenty of the just-coming-on harvest
of shiny sturdy red hot fruits
dangling off the jalapeño plants
the after lunch cereal scenarioI
involving a chocolate puff and marshmellow sugar fest
accompanied by almond milk
spooned out of our (eric, jenafr, cynthia and i’s) bowls

convex and concave she talks about the shapes
food sometimes takes
a descendant from a long line
of those with synesthesia
sometimes there is no other word for a cat curled up besides puddle
as in: a puddle of cat
and there is birdie
a puddle of cat
lying on both of our chests/hips
moving in the slight hammock sway
rounded or squared cynthia asks about corners
on the end-grain cutting boards (one of each variety
set out on the table
the wood dark and wet with oil/water

a short poem folded
like a passed note
torn out of notebook and titled
for frankie just before lunch
tossed my way across dining room table
pocket-sized and zipped into
my hoodie

there’s plenty to go around jenafr says
to the bee in the cosmos patch where we
gather seed and use the word vulgar about the not-yet-opened-but-almost buds
tiger-eye eyes i say
looking in and naming off cat quailities
the absolute-danger color
of sunset sky
burning red in the west
everywhere along the horizon
from the wider world:

View of an artwork by French artist JR on the U.S.-Mexico border in Tecate, California. – voice of america, day in photos

from the water world:

View of the aftermath of Hurricane Irma on Saint Maarten, the Dutch part of Saint Martin island in the Caribbean. voice of America, day in photos


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all the birds who let me get close

eric and i plucking our way down the bean bed
opposite each other
at some point i look up and notice the sunflower
grown so tall
it rises up over the edge of the greenhouse roof
leaning over it towards us
like one might lean in on a counter or car door where the window is rolled down
butter-fried sage leaves
prepared and arranged atop sweet corn salad
and there could probably be a joke here
about the delicate crunchy leaves being
the artisnal version of corn flakes on top of a casserole
distant all-day rumble/hum
of combines
plus the cool edges that the mornings and evenings draw in
that even though this end-of-august feels too early yet
autumn is on
all the birds who let me get close today:
male cardinal pecking seeds from drooping-under-its-own-weight sunflower head in south garden at the end of a tomato bed
a tousled-looking robin
plucking pokeberries from the tall stalks growing up on the karma berm
and the dusty-colored femail cardinal
in more sunflowers near north garden
the partially-unfurled sunflower of the yellow-gold petaled variety
(half of its petals still pressed into the rough brown middle
and the other half opened and extended out, mane-like

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the bob-white making its bob-white call
where we all camp at the edge of an apple orchard and a 200-year old house
sun long-since risen
and me turning slowly over to it
someone gives a percentage
of how much of the day we’ve spent
lounging and eating
something like 85
there are no words
for how the darkness swoops in, 
how the quality of light makes me want to put my hand out and watch its shadow on the quilt on the ground,
how the sun’s penumbra glimmers silver-blue while the moon covers that mighty star completely,
how sharon and i hug and mica laugh-cries and i let out some more squealy oh-my-gods and hannah cry-laughs and tim gathers hannah in his arms
what if sunrises/sunsets
only happened
once every year
i say in the wake
of that silver shimmer blue everything

something like a haiku:
zone of totality
two minutes
go by
phenomenally fast
on the drive home, sharon, mica and i take turns
naming our imaginary stores/shops using this formula:
first name last name
thing we like, thing we like, thing we like

based on a shop (housed in a metal-corrugated building) named in that manner
and though i don’t remember the specifics
it was something like
mark durian
overhauls, motors and atvs
our versions came out something like:
mica wood
organization, tidyness and cricket
(cricket is her dog)
sharon bagatell
isaac (her dog) cacao and spanish
frankie voeltz
water, sunsets, and words
franciszka voeltz
sequins, cats and unicorns

the celebratory ice cream i insist on buying
(peanut butter cup for mica,
salted chocolate almond for sharon and
caramel choclate crunch for me)
and when sharon chases me out the door with dollar bills i tell her
that wasn’t even money i spent,
that was uncle sam saying ‘have one on me’

arriving to that particular light
of post-thunderstorm gold-gildedness
shining through the spaces between leaves
everything shining wet
and then eric calls out as he runs up the neighbor’s hill
to announce the double rainbow
against the gray
and under it 
in all the glowing
standing out near the garden
in the company of four cats who gather around
is where i read about lions
and the tappet brothers
and nazis
and heartbreak
and tiny clownbirds
wind rippling the fabric i am wrapped in
what the people need is a shovel in the ground,
breaking the heart-clod,
the sound of dirt pushed aside for roots,
a shed full of blue jars and bees.
perhaps there is a name
for reading the kinds of poems i wish i wrote
and how they feed me
blanket-wrapped on the porch
mama cat on my lap
while the lightening goes from slight
to bright
back to slight again
rain cooling my ankles
mama cat hanging on until the big crack-booms then she
darts to her cardboard box
to curl in and look out

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 emory and i
frisbeeing and star wars monopolying and
him sifting flour in the setup i arranged
while i get the rest of the meal together

on the menu:
artisinal (always said tongue in cheek) crackers, two varieties:
toasted seeds and nions
or garlic basil
along with: 
carrot butter
hard boiled eggs
basil garlic farmers cheese and
tomato salad
the magnificence/mystery
of the sunshower
the sound of rain so unexpected on a day so sunny
a sudden pouring and then nothing
how i go outside to be in it
savoring drops on skin

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tossing the colors

let me tell you the chain of events  i say to trish in the office and then go on:
first, i broke my favorte glass of all time
because it slipped out of my wet hand and onto the butcher block,
then i went down to the sugar shack to see how much sorghum we have left
and on my way out the door, i noticed the elderberries were ripe
so i picked and picked and picked and while walking out of the elderberry patch
i was stung by a wasp on the back of my thigh
but as soon as i looked down (what are the chances) i found some plantain that i chewed up and put on the sting
holding up each clothing article in the sally army shed in the almost too-dim lighting
for mica to check out from a slight distance
tossing the colors of several tomato varieties in a stainless steel bowl:
paul robeson, cherokee purple, juan de flamme, amish paste and cosmonaut volkov
how i can’t help but exclaim at the flavors
before mixing in the chopped onions and basil and a sploosh of vinegar and several small glugs of oil

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this wildness

the white ones eric says in the small sea of dark purple-pink light pink and white cosmos
smell like george michael
which i find fucking hilarious because
none of us know what george michael smells like
but in a weird way, i sortof get it
not that i necessarily agree
a burst of sun and then the relief when it grays over again
while the crew of us
(baigz, trish, kris, eric, ryan and me)
tug away at weeds that i resent
for being allowed to become this wildness
how i curse the hornworm damage
or is it blister beetle
(dififcult to tell – perhaps both)
in the tomatoes and ask them
to please take only what they need
and save the rest kindly for us
the small graybrown snake
squiggling itself across the wooded path
past the mushroom yard
towards cool ranch
and then, a good look at the groundhog
that sometimes pops out from under cool ranch
whose fur is much whiter/grayer
than i remember
the double-wow of the two heaping apple pies
that eric produces from the oven
left to cool in their glass pans on wire racks whie we all play a round of affirmation
we can’t talk eric says to kris and i
until we see a cow
as we walk the gravel back road
on kris’s last night
two of us wearing shoes
and one (kris) not
and at first we are reverent
but then, we are moonwalking and
gesturing and laughing
on our way
since we have such good tea parties
we could be called menage a tea
eric says in the candlelit sangha
after the second bell has rung

the velvet royal sky
dusted with star sparks and then the moon
waxing, but not far along from new
turning sepia/gold
slowly as it lowers
from the water world:

Commuters cross a flooded street on a wooden plank after heavy rains from tropical storm “Nesat” inundated some parts of metropolitan Manila, Philippines. – voice of america, day in photos

A bonnet macaque drinks water offered by a devotee during the Hindu festival of Nag Panchami, which is celebrated by worshipping snakes to honor the serpent god, inside a temple on the outskirts of Bengaluru, India. – voice of america, day in photos

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through the thin curtain drawn

somewhere between
the chicken coop and the whitehouse
before breakfast
i give myself over
to the impressive weeds in the fava bean bed
and come out of it all with that north garden sandy soil
coating my knees, calves, forearms and there’s probably some
on my face too
kris and eric and i
clinking our mugs of summer blend tea
(with oatstraw)
over the butcher block
where dinner takes the form of peanut butter cookies
cooling on the racks and jill scott plays
in the background
while back-forth stitching
black thread on black elastic
i meet luma mufleh
being her empathetic, badass and courageous self
on the center stage of a ted talk
titled don’t feel sorry for refugees,
believe in them
and it’s exactly as it should be  i think
when the audience standing-ovations her
at the end
and something about jill scott in the background
and the lowering sun through the thin curtain drawn aross the kitchen west-facing window
and the way we three just sit and sip makes me feel
like we are at a sidewalk cafe
and the novelty of such a thing from here
makes it all worth it
the heat breaking finally
just enough today 
that my sheet of eclipse stamps
is returning to the darkins
of it’s at-rest state

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