Tag Archives: water

sidewalk rewilding

4:25am and we are driving into the moon
which is an orangegold sickle slicing the inkdark sky
on the edge of late night/early morning
and then there is also the toss of star-gems tumbled across all the darkness
_______
the gratitude i have for a driver
who slows down appropriately
(way way way down)
when the shine of deer eyes roadside
reflect back at us
_______
i know nothing about this woman
cleaning this bathroom at union station (chicago)
except for the absolute absence
i encounter in her eyes, her body
(husk, shell)
when i ask if the stall she was just cleaning in
is now open
and how she responds with the emptiest emptiness
_______
the bee who, even here, just across the way from the tallest building
in the western hemisphere
lands near the tip of my pen as i write this
among the jackhammering,
the pfffffffft of busses releasing air from their hydraulics,
and the two men just down the block who shake
the change at the bottom of tall empty cups asking
_______
pumpkin crumpet i laugh with isa who i call from along the river,
 voice to voice not face to face though we are in the same city
_______
what says yes to me and how i say yes back
as the train roll-rocks north and west
from near madison:
the birch/poplar trees – their skinny trunks singing bright white against all the other treeness
and the conifers dotting the scape
and the way the land curves and folds and
the rock/cliff formations rising alongside rivers and creeks
_______

how it is good that there is a bench
for our bodies to land on
so our cells can say the things back and forth
that our words have been saying for weeks now
_______
the sidewalk rewilding itself
on the stretch we walk
between train station and pho
a river of night traffic on our left and
the water and beaver homes
on our right
_______
robbie in the room down the way
a typewriter on the desk in the room we inhabit (a royal)
sometimes we have to keep quiet
though the floorcreakas might give us away and i want to know
if there is a name for the sound i can hear
inside the un-made noise
(how that unmade noise is a presence, a kind of cave, tunneling down through opened mouth and length of larynx and root of guts and)
_______
from the water world:

A boy collects recyclable plastic bottles drifting with garbage along the coast of Manila Bay at the slum area in the Baseco Compound in metro Manila, Philippines.

Dead fish float in the Confuso river near Villa Hayes, Paraguay, 30 kilometers north of the capital Asuncion.

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just to listen to the sound of something wild

the thing
that makes my day is the pinnies/mesh jerseys
that christina ordered
and how i joked about hot pink and low and behold
there we are, javi, baigz and i
donning the hot pink with black trim pinnies
chasing that disc and
cheering each other on
_______

post-frisbee and ted and i are the only two
at the pond’s edge
so quiet i can hear the sound
of water in to water
drizzle drops hitting pond surface
_______
how every time i get on a bike out here
i tell myself it’s been too long
including today
pedaling through the little spits of rain
and all that fall color coming in
_______
the squash kachina
arriving early (as birthdays go)
from chimayo
and how i can almost smell
the pinon smoke and certainly hear
debbie and liz’s voices and
laddie’s bark and the sound of water
dripping
from the sacred spring
reminding me
how it is something fierce
the ways i carry land and people in me
________
the view from stephen’s storage storage shed/office
behind the house
(trees, shrubbery, grasses)
while we talk rhythm and line breaks and
storytelling
_______
what is dust? somehow 
the way eric asks the question in the back seat as the four of us ride home
through the wet wet rain
on the wet wet gravelroads
plus all the dust-induced sneezes and wheezes
(post-clothing swap
where shirts and skirts and scarfs and socks all sailed overhead
as the auctioners tossed them to the bidders
[though there was no money involved
just eager hands signaling])
makes me laugh the kind of laugh which spirals into more laugh which means other people spiral into it too and then there are tears and then even more of the kind of laughlaugh that i often get the feeling i should suppress when it gets like this but why – when it feels so ridiculosu and good and other people are in the boat too?

_______
electricity flickering off for 30 seconds
here and there as we dine on front porch perch
while rain goes torrential
and the lightning shocks loose
________
i don’t know what kind of rule book it is
but in my book that contains the rule
for silence curing coyote calls – just to listen to the sound
and its sacredness of something wild
still alive out there,
there is another rule about turning out all the lights
just to watch the scraggles and illuminations
of lighting while a storm pounds and passes

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so sustenance-ful

the sun
that finally shows itself
through treehouse window
glowing on the morning thoughts
of free spirits
_______
the organics inspector
handing me a piece of paper
with the name of a nebraska poet
(whose last name might have one t 
or might have two)
written on it
_______
the tiny black bugs
that land and bite
on forearms, on calves
as i collect cosmos seed
in the heat of the low sun
_______
cynthia and i snacking
on the ‘cheese’ pretzel chex-like
snack mix
on the drive back along these great expanses
of bright bright risen (like a bowl of dough) green
plus autumnal treeglow on top
_______
under the upside down bowl
tyler reveals, boiled,
the first chestnut harvest
at sandhill
and the tasture (taste and texture)
so sustenance-ful
in my mouth
_______
one moth bumping
against the pane of a window
because that’s where all the light is
makes a remarkable amount of sound
(to the point of audio-ly resembling raindrop)
i turn off the light
 _______
from the water world:

Farmers paddle in a boat at a flooded village after a tropical depression in Hanoi, Vietnam. – voice of america, day in photos

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nothing says fall

em asking me to tie his skull-print piratey do-rag on his head
and then him lego-ing while i read aloud from a book of scary things (weather, killer animals, the bermuda triangle)
and there is something throughout the day that i smile extra to myself about that do-rag
(i would already smile in the first place because i love it
but then the extra-ness because of tying it on in the second place)
which might be the closest
to a parental tug
i might ever feel
_______
how i grab the shovel and emory meets me on his bike and 
i ask him to grab a stick while i leverage
scooping the roadside rigid and perfect possum body
(lighter on top, darker in the legs)
with flies and bees buzzing
in its mouth
and the three chicory flowers i place
over its eyes
before layering the dried grass on/over

________
robbie and i, new berlinites, doing the softball pose in the dahlias
while cynthia snaps the photos
_______
nothing says fall like a ride on a wagon hitched to a tractor
and here we are all
riding down the gravel road
on the double wagons
hitched to the gas-fuming tractor
(my neckercheif pulled up over my nose)
our work gloves on
our bodies readying for the field dance
of scooping up awkward-to-carry bundles of cane
and dropping them onto the wagons
_______
emory, eric and i
in the field to the west of the pond
awaiting the next wagon
each of us with a sorghum leaf tucked
in the back of our hats
like a single tall feather,
kendra and zeke follow suit
_______
dottie and i in the orchard
after several rounds of cane pick-up
kicking and kneeing and headbutting and chesting (etc) a work glove back and forth
as if it were a hacky sack and me
losing it to the hilarity
completely
with every kick
_______
the hum-whine of combines drifting in the distance
at night in light of moon
as they harvest what seems like endless corn
(though not as endless as the corn in nebraska)
how this is another entry
for the sandhill sound dictionary
and how, if there is ever a fall northeast missouri sound to be nostalgic about,
this is one
_______
i want to be seen
and i want to know the world
and mess with it
she says (i’m paraphrasing)
about how our kind
want to burn

_______

from the water world: 

Lanny Dean, from Tulsa, Oklahoma, wades along a flooded Beach Boulevard next to Harrahs Casino as the eye of Hurricane Nate pushes ashore in Biloxi, Mississippi. – voice of america, day in photos

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if a tree and i can have inside jokes

emory’s morning sleepy face
combined with his slightly pointy black hood pulled up
and the way he stands there along the coathooks, statue-like
i tell him he looks like a gnome
_______
the array of yellows, reds, oranges
arranged on dehydrating trays
not the most cherry tomatoes in a harvest
and also, certainly not the last
_______

the persimmon fruits i spy
up in the branches of a non-persimmon tree
(the result, i’m deducting, of a branch with fruits falling
and lodging itself in this other tree)
and how i appreciate the playfulness 
if a tree and i can have inside jokes, this is one of them
_______
the press and warmth of jack the jack russel in my lap in truck backseat
as he snarfle-sniffs out the cracked-open window
as a crew of us roll zims-wards –
some of us for ice cream, 
some of us for flour for tomorrow morning’s doughnut-making,
and some of us just to go along for the ride
_______
the kid size twist cone tyler hands through the truck cab window
which kindof resembles a drive-through window
_______

how all the color (green of grass
plus bright yellow and red and orangebrown leaves)
speckles the path between cool ranch
and the white house
and how i try to love it all
with heartdoors flung open
_______
cool ranch lights blinking off and back on again
as someone over in the sugar shack flips the breakers
while prepping for the sorghuming
_______
top forty songs (from now and from the 80s and 90s)
that the ottumwa radio station plays
while i yoga
this field-soar body
(headstands to cyndi lauper
and planks to prince
and warriors to adele)
_______
the moon as seen from east-facing window
and how, because of all the branches between me and moon,
it appears not as a moon at all
but a ball of christmas bulbs glowing
because of the way the twiggy lines
break the light up
_______

from the water world:

A man releases paper lanterns to float in Shwe Kyin creek during the annual light festival in Bago, about 183 km from Yangon, Myanmar. The ritual is believed to bring good fortune at the end of Buddhist Lent. – voice of america, day in photos

A man is seen bathing a horse in Dickenson Bay, on the northwestern coast in Antigua, a month after Hurricane Irma struck the Caribbean island near St. Johns, Antigua and Barbuda. – voice of america, day in photos

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the night on me

how one of the things i like about this time of year
is rachel’s yom kippur text that reads
in honor of yom kippur –
will you forgive me for anything i might have said or done this year
that has hurt you?
_______
the saxaphone sounds
drifting across a day
perfectly sun-warmed
while i tiptoe through forest
plucking fallen persimmons
soft and impossibly cute in their smooshy roundness
and placing them
in a small basket
_______

the contra caller
and her impressive patience
for a mic that keeps shorting out
and a room that never falls silent and the kids, goddess bless ’em, who want to dance but aren’t really listening and must be steered by their shoulders
through the doe-see-does
swings and
sashays
_______
sometimes after nine but before 10
the half moon sending light across sky
and down as well
how it hits the high parts of the land
while the low parts stay in shadow
as i pedal through

_______
i want to bring you the night on me i say about
climbing in with night-bikeride-cooled skin and 
the cycling-sttoked inner fire
burning
_______

Nepali Hindu devotees splash water on a buffalo set to be sacrificed during the Hindu Dashain Festival in Bhaktapur, on the outskirts of Kathmandu.

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all the fallen persimmons

words for the way the fall sun
at its low angle
not just up but still early in the sky
backlights the broad still-green leaves
i stand under
on the gravel road
at the end of my run
glancing up
at magnificence

_______

the goodmorning message that 
reads: welcome to another day
with us in it

_______

a chain:
me (as i write) watching mama cat
(and her intent and inqusitive face) as she watches
a squirrel swinging fantastically
as any acrobat
(and maybe even more fantastic than some)
through the persimon trees
_______

is it raining near you she asks
i think we’re in each other’s storm system
_______
the box that arrives packed
with spices for making hari mirch ka achaar
repacked by jnfr
along with a note 
keeping ourselves espicy!

_______
there is no word
for the kind of happiness
the dahlias
and gumphrena
and snapdragons
and asters
and strawflowers
and bachelor’s buttons
and zinnias
and celosia
and cosmos bring me
while i walk among them
and clip the right and ready ones
and then arrange them
in a clear clean jar
of water
_______

the rustling around
just outside my room
of a possum (white and gray/black)
whose lips/mouth i can actually hear smack
as they feast
on all the fallen persimmons
_______
from the water world: 

This photo shows a man performing on a water-propelled flyboard at Shenyang Olympic Park in Shenyang in China’s northeastern Liaoning province. – voice of america , day in photos

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