Tag Archives: gardening

already dangling

the handful of sweet potato slips
i lower into the reverse-nests in the mulck
in the chicken yard beds
of north garden
_______
you have to add an extra syllable to everything
and say it with a smile
cynthya says
about the language sounds
of south carolina
that she came up in
_______
i forget her name but she is the mama of oliver
and we call them the little family because they are all little
and on her way out the door she says
that she just has to say thank you again for the poem you wrote my son
the one about the dog
we actually just got a puppy last week
and your poem is framed on a table next to his bed
to which i have to say:
yes, this is why i do this 
and also, take that, submission rejections!
_______
like childhood caroline says
of the caramel she made for yesterday’s potluck
the rest of which she brings over
to share alongside dinner tonight
_______
the very light green fruits
already dangling
from the branches of some of the tomato plants
which will most likely
arrive at ripe
in my absence
_______
despair and ecstasy  i say about this moment in the space time contiuum which currently features:
a best friend’s mother going into hospice with the remaining time alive is put at weeks not months,
the news of a sudden break up of the four year relationship of another best friend
and a birth, of a third best friend’s baby
which all makes me think something
must be going on astroligcally
_______
from the water world:

A man jumps from a bridge into the Limmat river during hot temperatures in Zurich, Switzerland. – voice of america, day in photos

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the unbelievable amount of light

the crunch of the bronze insect eggs
(squash bugs) as we smoosh them
between fintertips or fingertip and nail or nail and nail or fingertips and palms
in north garden where we work our way along the
three sisters patches
_______
the coolness on me
under thin button up shirt as i 
walk away from completing the weeding of the cosmos patch
in perhaps the hottest part of the day
(91 degrees the thermometer reads)
drips of sweat dropping
off my brows into my eyes
_______
yeah, because words can sometimes fuck everything up
i say to chad
in defense/as explanation
for connecting
with animals
_______
the unbelievable amount of light
a single bug can give off
each firefly flicker
illuminating what they land on:
the neck fur of mama cat,
the small white watering can,
the door handle,
my arm
_______
aurelia and nina and cole
as if they were waiting tables asking
person after person
around the fire if they would like a smore
and i place
two orders and then mention
how i’m going to yelp about this  place – the best restaurant
in northeast missouri
_______
mae and i both agreeing
that this is the best firefly season
since either of us have been here
(in northeast missouri)
that we’ve ever witnessed
although it’s difficult to tell in the moment
because of the great light
of the bonfire before us
_______
sheila guiding us
in her headlamp light
up the path
in the post-fire dark
_______
how i try to catch (from cool ranch porch)
animal sounds somewhere between here and the chicken yard
some of which sound like
a creature having hairballs (but 10 times the size/sound of a domesticated cat),
and almost grunting growling that reminds me of wild boars,
snapping of twigs/brush underfoot (i’m assuming these creatures are on the ground, not in the trees),
a kind of sparring and this is where the dog-like growls come in
there are definitely at least two of them

_______
from the water world:

Two men play in the Duinrell amusement park in Wassenaar as Europe sizzled in a continent-wide heatwave. – voice of america, day in photos

Girls stand in monsoon rains beside an open laundry in New Delhi, India. – voice of america, day in photos

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a sheen

the way the heat of the large skillet brings out
the greenest-of-green-things green
of the rare / few-times-a-season
treat of twice shelled fava beans
and the way that greenest green
seems to sweat from the inside out
on the heat showing a sheen

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the prayer in me

float-flitting about and about again
back-forth-backing
the small bird seen from loft window
as morning makes itself
the i.d. book tells me is a gnatcatcher
_______
my only wish if it were my birthday today
i say on the way to harvest the last of the  peas to baigz whose birthday it actually is
would be for rain
_______
the particular plunk of blueberries
(the diameter of a nickel)
as we drop them into plastic buckets celebrating
first bloobs of the season

_______
tyler in the kitchen letting out a whoop
at the first drops of rain and from the lab,
i yell out a yeyyyyeeeeeessssssssssssss!
and from somewhere down the way
I can hear baigz cheering too
_______
how the first crack of thunder
(after a flash of bright so brilliant it is visible even
in the daylight)
splits everything around me in half
including myself
so holy there is no difference
between the prayer in it and the prayer
in me
_______
the tineiest of tiny elderberry flowers
i pluck from the tree for identifying – 
turns out they are indeed elderberry
and later gift them to baigz
birthday elderberry! i proclaim while giving it to him
(and later, i pick up hail – birhtday hail! – and gift him one
and put two in my apple cider and fizzy water drink)
_______
the bright red of unripe berries and the 
deep purple of the ripe ones
found several yards outside my door
a delicious walk
_______
the something like opera that comes out of my mouth
when i encounter a raccoon about four feet from me
at face level
in the beam of my headlamp
and after the opera
how i tell raccoon loud as i can
to go away
_______
how some nights (like tonight) are oil lamp nights
even though the electricity isn’t out
it’s the lightning and rain that made me do it

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don’t get precious about it

in the absolute dark sometime between last night’s sunset and this morning’s dawn
i get up to pee and guess the time (3:21)
before tucking myself back in again
and hit indiglo on my watch to see the time and the numbers astoundingly read 3:21
_______

7:20 a.m. cynthia cruising past on the tractor 
hauling water to the sorghum starts 
performing part deux of the emergency watering/salvation
_______

8:30 a.m. out on the frisbee field and it’s already blazing hot
as we warm up – tossing those discs back and forth
before we have even begun running up/down and up/down that field
______
i”m not afraid to put stuff out there –
i don’t get precious about it  says sterlin harjo, a filmmaker,
when talking about his process in an interview on the broken boxes podcast
and later, the host (whose name i don’t know) says
as an artist, you have people that follow you – lead them well

_______

the western sky streaked with copper
against gray-lavender
while i walk the hose up/down the tomato and tomatillo beds
offering a quenching
with the slow steady flowing hose
in my hand

_______

10something p.m.
with all five windows open in the cedar room, the cool night air drifts in
and it is like being
on a screened-in porch

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the almost

the almost iridescent indigo
of the first larkspurs flowering
on the edge of the herb garden
_______
abundance in the color red:
stainless steel bowl filled with strawberry harvest and
several buckets of cherries awaiting pitting
in the walk-in (and fruits still dangling
off the trees)
_______
how the rare sound of a helicopter overhead
most likley means someone is being airlifted
so when the chopper hums past today
i send wishes along with it
to whoever is aboard
and their dear ones
_______
only four pages into braiding sweetgrass and already
it is a good good book
_______
multiple encounters with the groundhogs
who live under my room
including standing a mere foot from a baby
before it startles off towards cover
and also including many shrieks/whistles
and scampering to shelter and also
several stare downs
and how this is one of the things writing is all about
(meaning: half of the writing
is looking/listening/watching and being curious)
_______
sound of the tractor rolling back in around sunset
from an emergency sorghum watering/rescue
and how the least i could do was clean up dinner
as a way to say thank you for caring
for the little planties
_______
how i leave the phone and ringer on
at night like an emergency hotline
so i can be there
just in case
_______
the lightning bug morse coding
with the on-off of its green LED-like light
as it crawls along the pane
of the cedar room’s north-facing window

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somehow they all fall

quite a spread i say of the
home-made nutella spread,
eric’s unbelievably thin crepes,
the powdered sugar alongside lemon slices,
the fluffy frittata
the slices of bananas and
slices of first strawberries
plus orange juice all
set out on the butcher block for
the grandparents
who came out for emory’s 9th
birthday blowout
_______
the bright red notes pulsing
on the song of the cherry trees
from dawn til dusk in the
backyard orchard
_______
i was listening to eminem and he 
reminded me of you
 eric says
on the front porch during our dinner of
birthday-leftover-plenty
_______
with the mantra to cull hard or go home (even though i am home)
i sift through files and papers
while wishing i could do the same
to the collection of journals and letters
but somehow they all fall in the keep category

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