wild green things

the scratches mama cat leaves
when i swoop the toy pummy
(too short) past her quick and sharp claws
the message, like a bird, swooping in
as i walk through the basement kitchen:
this place is dying
how jack the jack russell and i
walking in our own states of happiness
and our shared state of happiness
down the gravel road
in the humid heat
feels like home
the salad of wild green things

darien prepared and how i go back
to try, for the first time:
milkweed pods and milkweed flowers
accompanied by the lamb’s quarters he foraged
how we howl with our laughter
at the nonsense of the if/then game
which produces various hilariousnesses
such as:
what if our souls could merge with everyone else’s souls?
then there would be a lot more moats in the world
henri tossing paper scraps to ashby the cat
and then giggle-laughing
at how he plays/bats
at each crinkly bit

sounds like they’re playing little castanets
i say of the cricket frogs clicking/croaking

around the edges of apple’s pond
that we walk our way down into
in the dark
the sky spilling its star soup
across itself
on the edge
of sleep in the wavy-walled cabin
whose floor is marked with an anarchy-A in a heart
she says i like the us
that we are becoming


under a subtle sunset

the lilac-y purple of the chicory flowers and the
bright yellow burst of birdsfoot trefoil
flowering alongside the highway as i bike alongside the highway too
and call out to them like i would to friends
hey trefoil! hey chicory!
these flowers familiar as home

watering in the fruit tree section
i snack as i go:
three varieties of cherries
a handful of varieties of currants
plus gooseberries

something squeaking under a tray of perennial pots
in the greenhouse and how
i lift it slowly to reveal
a rumply bumpy greygreenblackbrown
toad frog

the not fledgling but not adult robin
(speckled white)
that goes for the red cherry on the ground
and when the robin comes back
several times
i toss a cherry
in the robin’s direction
crouched close to garden ground
sick kitty weightless on my back
under a subtle sunset
as if someone smudged the colors and textures with their hand
while i drop tepary beans
into the earth


the real thing is better

shirley on the sitting lawnmower
paused and looking up into the trees telling me
how she likes to stop to listen to the birds
and how this one she could hear over the mower
the basket woven from last year’s willow
that i carry down to the garden empty
and carry back up
filled with green
(arugula, spinach, chard, kale)
if you have never looked
at a blooming milkweed flower closeup
i recommend you should
and make sure to smell it while you’re at it
here’s a sneak peek
but the real thing is even better:

(photo taken from here)
the candle throwing its glow about us
as she speaks of the terrifying news
around immigration and border issues
including the u.s. planning migrant tent camps
on military bases
the chill of it enough to cool us
on an 80 degree night
the chill of it enough to be winter
if winter decides on not coming this year
which it very well could

too pink to name

i’m uncertain
if i’ll be wanted anywhere
e says

telling me about just starting seminary school
to be a pastor
and as a queer
she worries she might not be wanted
so i write her a poem
that says how much she is needed
and how when she lands with the right community
they won’t realize how deeply they longed for her
until she arrives
noa bouncing in the seafoam / mint tealblue booth
of viroqua’s new mexican restaurant
while we each take turns being
the interrupting cow
the deep blueblack
of driftless hills to the east
as seen from the highways we pedal down
blueblack turned bluerblacker
through the tint of my shades
the squeak of a garage door rolling slowly up
of the house whose address is 666 (washington st)
as we pedal past
the bunny
dangling by the neck in the grip
of graycat’s sharp teeth
and how the adorable bunny body bounce bounce bounces
as graycat trots across the grass
too hot and too pink to name
the sun setting sends a shock
of neon-adjacent color
across the northern horizon
from west to east
while jennifer grubhoes away
at the impossible weeds and i plant edamame round three

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

don’t try

the deer grazing on the side of the busy highway
where the sound of loud fast passing traffic
doesn’t seem to disturb it but the sound of me
grinding past on the gravel on my bike
frightens it over the fence and into the woods
and i call out after saying be careful!
don’t try to cross this road if you don’t have to


pointing towards sky

a name for the gold/brown body of the dead deer
car-collided and bucked and  tossed along the side
of highway fourteen – skin taut with bloat and
limbs stiff with death – legs poking up pointing towards sky
body speckled with flies and then another,
limbs less sticky uppy,
further down the road
ranger, austin, jennifer and i joking
about a bar called the wacky puritan
which will be the project austin embarks upon
during his time in residence at the fine arts work center
in provincetown
(the limited drink menu will include the disgusting and disturbingly named:
hand grenade
irish car bomb
and of course some cider for the gluten free crowd)
the monarch perched
atop a swaying wild clover flower
along the edge of green acres road
while i bike past asking
for the wild things to show themselves
to me