let’s just say there was a shop vac

front porch potting-up factory
where the peppers are upgraded
from studio apartments to one-bedrooms
and the
sunflowers and zinnias and cosmos
get upgraded from a group dorm
to single dorms
(which some people might say i am ridiculous
for starting rather than direct seeding into the ground
but i’ll take all the extra growth and time i can get)
gray cat hunting its new toy:

the plastic strip ripped off the top of a
25 pound bag of potting soil

it’s probably best not to mention the rat remediation
but let’s just say
there was a shop vac
and formula 409
and a half eaten tub of mink oil leather conditioner
and flashlights and spray foam
and a saw and particle board and another saw
and a mini pry bar named richard
and how we toss all the clothes we were wearing
into the wash machine
and neither of us could scrub
hard enough
you’re already leaving she says
to the glasses-clad one
over chili and spinach sunflower sprout salad
and homemade bread
i can hear it in your voice

the setting sun a smudge
coppery swabbed by wisp swoosh clouds
over silos and green fields
as seen from green acres road and highway J
are we ok she asks in the light
of a single beeswax candle bought
at the farmer’s market and made
by verna’s sisters


made of blueberry lavender

five a.m., me up and sitting on the kitchen table
feet on a chair
how i snuck quietly in there to ‘hunt’ the rats
(locating the sound of where they party
to understand more about where they’re coming in
and where they’re partying around to)
apple’s hilarious suggestion
to literally punch the time clock
(as in, with a fist)

what i call groundcherry jam
she calls groundcherry syrup
made with the intention of being jam –
either way, we love the way the softened fruits
fall perfectly into the empty waffle squares
the sunset sky some sort of neapolitan
but made of blueberry lavender and
fuschia strawberry and cool vanilla
striping itself over the curves of green field
laying themselves out the front windows


a purple cursived note

the array of baby aloe plants
set out on the porch
a little sea of potted green
J’s fingers full of dirt
her feet bare
the sun falling around everything
the wind tugging socks off their drying spots
defrosted pumpkin pie baked
from scratch weeks ago
sliced into three pieces
one for jennifer
one for me
and one in gratitude for mark
for transporting some tubs of my things
this way
the bright red
of plucked tulip petals
tucked inside a purple cursived note
hand delivered
from the windy ridge of coyote song
to the windy ridge of Real Human HQ

under a faint big dipper
in the day’s last smudge of light
where dark shadows could be cows or burn barrels
we both marvel
at all there is to love
on this planet and struggle to understand
those that don’t

blood and glitter

lenticular she says when i ask
what kind of cloud about the ufo-looking
things floating in a sea of all that
desert purplepink orange sky
laced with copper neon streaks
with the mountains rising up
behind them
as seen from the pico de gallo parking lot
where  we take sips of some too-sweet jamaica
and carry the warm tacos in too much styrofoam
to the car


blood and glitter someone says
about the seats for the groundlings marked splash zone
on blankets in the dust of the tucson city park
for the second annual tucson shakesqueer punk production
this year for the play whose name shall never be
mentioned on stage because it is bad luck

constant clamor of the sea

the farm showed me about all the ways i felt
i needed to ask for permission
i say

to feather in the front seat as they and janey and jennifer and i hurtle
north on the 205 and then
eventually oceanwards
feather musing/calling out
what do you even do with that!!!!????
to the great tumult of pacific waves frothing as they tumblecrash
under the orangepink glow whose intensity
is just shy of something molten as it
lights up the puff of cloud it has slid behind
jane, feather, jennifer and i yelling out
WE LOVE YOU OCEAN!!!! to the surf froth-pound
not on the count of three,
but when the next wave travels far enough up the beach
that it reaches our booted feet
a fire crackling in the lodge and a record
spinning on the player while dawn hands us the key
to room number eight
whose kitchen is like a ship galley
and whose countertop is painted
the chorus of what sounds like hundreds
of spring peepers plus constant clamor of the sea
as heard from cabin #8 when its front door
is flung open

on the other side of the locked door

the rooster crow coming some yard
(to surrounded by green to see)
near 155th and glisan under this morning’s sky filled
with multiple gray layers as i
in my pink running shoes
move through

the triangles of corn tortillas cripsing/browning
in the oil warmed in the cast iron pan
“rustic” i say about serving up the salsa
we’ve mixed together
in the canned tomato can, paper label still on
with a long spoon in it sticking out

the crackle of the munch mitt
(a mitten with crackly plastic inside and nubby purple rubber

on top)
jennifer and i laughing on the other side of locked door
on our friends’ porch about
being stranded out there after sending a string of texts
and knocking some gentle knocks
and timidly touching the doorbell well aware
of the sleeping baby inside
gina doing the math about the three of us
splitting the last twelve ounce can
of bubbly water, pouring it into
quilted pint jars
and passing it out
pink marker smudges on my left hand from
writing groundrules on a muslin scrap
for the writers gathered
around us

home is everywhere

the kestrel perched on top of a
tall and curvy mullein stalk
in an open space between paths that
lay laced over all that green of
at powell butte where we look out to see
the mountains ringed
nearly all around us
dark blue/black and snowcapped

home is everywhere i wrote yesterday to go
with an image of sun moving through trees
as seen from a train window and today
i repeat it in the back seat and in the company
of dear old friends and all these familiar trees
and mountains
and light
the two straws (one hot pink and one red)
poked into the tall plastic cup of taro boba
that shannon and i pass back and forth
while chomping through our banh mi
and birdie experiments with eating
carrot shreds_______

a dusty purple orange sunset smudged
across sky /cloud as seen
from over my left shoulder in the back seat
birdie in her car seat tucked
between jenafr and i
heading homewards