Tag Archives: wildlife

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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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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searching for the unfindable

in the dream, i was missing trains and
losing kids in my care and
getting locked out and scrambling
through my mess of stuff (that resembled the waking life mess of stuff in the field first aid backpack) searching for the unfindable tickets
_______
the 6something a.m. eastern screech
whinnying/cooing into the just-lightening day
soothing out the rough edges
that the dream gave me as souveneirs
_______
welcome aboard i say to dottie
who’s stripping cane in sorghum field 3a
and also ironing out their wild (compared to the rest of us) sleeping habits
 _______
thought about you today dad says and tells me
the title of the book that the milwaukee county sailing club
is reading for a book group: the death and life of the great lakes
_______
you couldn’t just go to the stre and buy paint unless you belonged
to the artist group
 
my mom tells me about a polish film
she saw with her polish speakers group – 
the film was based on a true story of life under communism after world war two
_______
may the force be with you dad says
about my upcoming
uprooting
and later: your body needs rest, it heals while you’re sleeping –
go get some healthy sleep
_______
when the rain begins bucketing
i can’t keep from worry-wondering about our guests in tents
while i write away under a roof
held up by four walls
_______
the yellow-gold glow
candlelight by which i write (and ironically text)
in – it is another one of those evenings, the kind where i am compelled to not turn on a light

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the day in pieces

the classic redness
of the apples we pluck
from heavy branches
trying to call out
when the fruit is falling near another’s head/body
filling crate after crate
with the best baking apples
(oh! the sweetness!)
i’ve ever tasted
_______

the almost unbearable buzzing and 
diving of bees
hovering around the windfall fruit
and zipping past
our ears
cheeks
noses
_______
the multi-colored zig zgs printed 
on the fabric i guide through the machine
that stitches elastic to fabric
_______
the new growth
which surprises all of us
on the green bean plants we work our way down
plunking the harvest into buckets
_______

moonstar the cat and the sometimes small snore
that comes out of her always small self
curled up in the medium sized priority mail box
made cozy with fleece scraps
as i write down the day
in pieces
_______

i mississippi river you like nobody’s business she writes
and i know exactly
what this feels like

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diagonaling

the buzzing inside the cardboard box
that was once a winter-warm cat place
now turned bee condo
_______

the low gold light 
(particular to fall)
plus less leaves on the trees plus wind – 
how the shine and shadow
dance onto my walls
in the morning
_______
the thirteen turkey vultures
perched on the electrical wires (and poles and crossbars)
that hold it all up as seen from
the whitehouse woodstack
where the cats gather on their respective perches
over a crunchy breakfast
_______
emory and i selecting one piece of candy each
from the bulk bins
he chooses a red, white and brown piece of taffy
which ends up, according to his report from the front seat of the truck i drive us home in,
tasting like cherry vanilla chocolate
and i choose a butterfinger peanut butter cup
which is mostly like a butterfinger in a sqaure shape
and i give a quarter of it to em
_______
first the honking
and then the sight:
three geese diagonaling south
against powdery late morning sky

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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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all the crumbs

adult raccoon and young one not far behind
scooting across the gravel road i run on
five feet in front of me
_______

post-run snack plucked right up
from the foresty floor:
persimmons – perfectly soft and what is the name
for the feel of that soft fruit skin against my fingers
and then there is the entire branch heavy with fruit
that broke off and now hangs from a peg outside my room
for the purpose of ripening, but also looking like a quite fine fall decoration
_______
the flurry and yellow/gold of bees funneling
in and out of a little tunnel/pit in the ground in lemony morning light
alongside the path down towards the old canada road
where we usually don’t drive the tractors through if it’s even the slightest bit wet
because they always get stuck
_______
cynthia braces me for the sadness
of the carolina parakeet
people would shoot at it for sport
and the thing about the carolina parakeet is that
when one of the flock dies, they all come to gather around it
reminds me of (white) people shooting at bison
from train windows
just because there were so many and
just because they could

_______

how i get down on the astroturf floor
in the empty upstairs of the mennonite store on highway two
(where one can serve themselves their own soft serve ice cream)
to cuddle with the stuffed animal tiger
sprawled out on the floor,
and it doesn’t stop there – ghana and i take turns hugging the hippo, the crocodile, the pig, the various kinds of dogs, the sheep, the elephant and trish cuddles up with the panda
and i joke about meeting our
hug quota for the day
and even though they are just stuffed animals (well, i always thought they were alive anyway),
my heart feels squishier and my body lighter afterwords
_______

all the crumbs the dutch letters leave (in this case, S’s) on ghana and trish and i
after we delight in the final food indulgence of our day
out on highway two
hitting up all the amish and mennonite stores
_______
trish showing me one of the 
happy salmon moves
(flapping a hand against another’s forearm)
in preparation for a game she suspects i’ll love
and based on this alone, her suspicion is correct
_______

mid-september sunset
(sky so crispclear
and the contrast fo clouds against it –
some in the general shape of a great spine curving along the southwest edge of sky
and light lowering (orange)
and how somehow it all smells/tastes/is colored something like
a september taos sky
(a call from three septembers past echoing out into the future – now)

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