ode to reads creek

thank you creek i say
for its coolness on a day of too hot heat,
for its movement,
for its gentleness with me,
for its way of making me new, body submerged,
like no other thing can


green i have seen

rain and gray outside i
pull the white down blanket form the dryer
and burrito myself inside
while talking on the phone
to shiz two time zones away
with whom i laugh about grapefruiting
and ask about isolation

gray cat curled in a charcoal-colored sweater-lined
medium size priority mail box
on the porch

the cinnamon smell of granola in the oven
curlie-q-ing out the oven door
into the kitchen
and out onto the porch

the greenest green i have ever seen
of the plantain and other plants mix
jennifer hunts, harvests, cleans and chops
swimming in a mason jar of everclear



trowel delivery! i call out
from the bike i rode down to the garden,
my hand on the trowel handle
and on the brake
look, they’re contra-dancing we joke
about the twerk-off dance club showdown
of girls trip and later we laugh-cry
about the word blooperlessness
to describe the lack of funny antics after the very end
of all the credits
the cool air that comes with the rain
blowing in the front windows
onto our shoulders

cooled and ready

the deer that startles at the edge of the gravel side road
while i bike past
my belly full of strawberry smoothie on this day
destined to hit 90 degrees
turning to thank the creek as i
step out of its cooling moving waters
my hair dripping
my legs cooled
ready for the bike ride home
in the hot hot humid heat
i spent most the afternoon in the shade
on the patio
working on my bonsais
is my dad’s father’s day report

shared while he’s out on a walk
and i’m clipping my toenails
before a late dinner of salad rolls

speak from the scars

the high and fast water of the upper iowa river
muddy in its turbulence after 6 inches of rainfall
pulling tree limbs and branches and random debris along
in its swirling current
underneath us on the swinging bridge
that we hope doesn’t get washed out
while we are on the other side
taking down our tents
speak from the scars
not the wounds
jennifer wood quotes a storytelling workshop

while we gather in the gender spectrum circle
passing along songs and stories,
pain and laughter and wisdom

remembering to slow

today, i bring water
and price tags
to the roses, to the lilacs, to the hollyhocks and the lilies
how the hummingbird dives in and out and back again
swoop down in
swoop down out
and again
and again
through the greenhouse back door
the hum/whir/zing of its body in flight
an unnameable sound
the amberish red-orange glow
of the red-tailed hawk
taking flight from some branch
mere feet from where i bike past
on the gravel shoulder of highway 14
remembering to slow
i ask to be shown
and ahead on the quiet side road i bike up
a wild turkey scuttles across
and up into the green and rocky hill
in the candlelight
spoon after spoon
we bring the soup in
to our open mouths

the gold light that comes after the rain
and the cloud doesn’t pass over us
it passes through

a cave of light

it’s like putting a pass on the wrist
of a festival-goer
i say

about the price tags we write
on strips of plastic
before fastening them
onto the branches of shrubs and trees
adrienne offering me a cinnamon roll
which she says she made out of the wrong kind of wheat
but i can’t tell – eating it while tending to the lilies
its wholeness reminding me of something
baked at sandhill
all the wild life (a space there on purpose)
i’ve been lucky to see today:
a trutle walking alongside the gravel road i bike up,
one deer bounding along the other side of the road a little further up,
and later another deer, leaping with such impressive height
across a field,
the yellow and black and slight bit of blue of a tiger swallowtail butterfly
lilting along on the wind and a red-tailed hawk
(or something that looks red when seen from underneath – wings spread)
the rain filling our buckets
off the slant of the roof how i whoop
when they are overflowing in the wildness
of the storm
sunset seen in 360 degrees where green acres road
meets highway J i joke about how
we should have walked with our lawn chairs out there
and how the sky features many clouds of textures and colors but one
that looks like a cave of light
someone could walk up into