the day begins with many things, but this is one:

victor (our 80-something? year old neighbor) and i talking through a rolled-down window on sandhill road
he hands me the empty washed jar i sent flowers in at news of his sister’s passing and also, a box of taffy from his daughter in florida
as soon as i am handed that empty jar,
i’m filling it again
with dusty purples and sharp reds and cream whites
and marching it up victor’s hill
to place on his porch
this report just in from dreamworld:
her sighting of four rainbows
one of which happened to be diagonally striped just like my skirt
she says
all the gold/yellow
leaves pirouetting down
as the storm gale plucks them
as seen from cool ranch’s front porch< gazing woods-ward
it’s a bagel moon phase tattoo baigz explains
to ghana while they head out past the garden shed
from the back door
post-stormy sky as seen from highway:
gray smudges to the south
(these are patches of rain – distant, falling),
to the west – a just-washed crisp clear (everything lined in the shine of water)t
and a cloud
which looks like a collage of several clouds
of all different types
glue-sticked together
mama cat and i both
standing along the mushroom yard
as the storm front blows in
(picking up speed and force)
and how that first thundercrack
sends mama cat under the house and i
throw my hands up to my ears and my body goes
into a high-shoulders pose
outside at the picnic table with
sampha in my ears as i halve the cherry tomatoes
before arranging them on dehydrator trays
the clouds pink-seeped against the west slate sky
the reflection of a moth’s eyes
in the beam of my headlamp
on my night commute
down to cool ranch
from the water world:

Indian villagers attempt to cross flood waters with the help of rope and empty canisters next to a washed away portion of a bridge at Palsa village in Purnia district in Bihar state. – voice of america, day in photos

because the trauma is still the same

roadside buck stew
heating up on the stove
as i chop garlic,
whisk dressing,
saute onions

two kinds of wine sipped out of little jam jars
and two kinds of grape juice for the kids
and a city food array of cheese and crackers
that catherine and nathaniel imported from st. louis
and how we gather and snack at the picnic table
near the end of a surpise balmy day

sampha playing through the speakers
which seems like a perfect smooth lilt
for spring
as i scrub carrots and slice onions

the email that says your grandma was never in a work camp
but was taken to germany under false pretenses where she did forced labor in the agricultural sector for the war efforts
and how this changes everything and nothing at all
because the trauma is still the same

mica and i laughing at the image of her
showing up to the kids’ nerf gun war
with an automatic nerf gun and strapped
with hot pink foam bullets
criss crossing her
how catherine and i groan on the couch
because of the too weird echoes of the actual world about actual guns
when emory says it’s not safe to show up
to the crew of kids with nerf guns
if he doesn’t have his too
the one-person-at-a-time rule
on the tour of the cedar room
which smells still thickly
of flax oil