Mother carries the newborn close
asks her fair straw haired girl;
“Do you want to decorate a cookie?”
Her jimmies bleed all over white frosting,
almost matching her striped zig-zag stockings.
Another adult lady asks;
“Do you have a new baby sister or brother?
How do you like your new brother?”
Remote and quietly she says,
Mother, child and girl slowly move through
quietly examining each gingerbread house
begin stating preferences
recognize familiar family names
oh and ah over those houses.
Again and again
she returns to her two ginger finalists
her choice settled she marks her vote
for the cabin with a bear and a witch in the front yard
and evergreen cookie trees in back.
In our home, I am ‘launderman’!
I know my maytag.
I separate colors.
I measure soap properly;
always use cold water.
When permitted, I use the solar dryer.
Within a mirror shell
A metal lair, a spiders dome.
woven, and knitted;
each spar and junction tethered,
this sunning patio spans the reflected world!
Engine turning noises, . . .
spider remains web centered,
accelerating, . . . and holding fast!
. . . h o l d i n g . . . f a s t!
Nearing Maximum Velocity,
slipping, and recovering,
walk buffeted walk!,
Hold on, h o l d o n!, . . .
Under thin gray clouds diverging down,
galloped colorful horse manes.
compacted ravine gravels.
Overnight pelted and rain-washed.
Standing distant on drying Quercus soils,
over sun-comforted knoll.
Grandmother oaks’ home, and you;
Young russet oak. Your noisy leaves,
scarlet dressed like your slim cousin;
your burred uncle bearing the hawk’s nest.
beginning a fallen acorn’s legacy.
Can we read books? Hyunji
checked another Mr. Putter and Tabby book,
South Madison branch.
Fourteen other titles,
Putter, his fine cat Tabby
Mrs. Teaberry and her good dog Zeke.
Yes Hyunji, we can always read books,
you and I will always read books,
But, we’ll never read them all.
July 19, 2006
Finding the lost soil plots, a reconnection
of twenty years hoeing.
Oregon State University researchers misled
down the Noe Woods fire trail.
July 18, 2006
Rusted, still viably green
parked on the edge.
Kestrel on the wire,
on the fly too.
A loop track
marks a field drab
betrays the vacant space
under a mattress top sky.