in the aftermath the answer is yes

It is hard to look at me

for I am your museum

and also your miracle

to reflect your starlight  

so my heart stays home

embarrassed by sadness

I rise and fall on wings that

may be pages and they may

take me away to forgetting

I can see the road right here

how it gets there--connects

--without touching a thing 

____________
Pic: The aftermath of yesterday's winter storm.

time zones

another day rolls over 

into tomorrow

I wake, roll over in bed 

reach for my phone

                                            wondering if my mother 

                                             texted me in the night--

                                             it happens a lot as we're

                                             in different time zones 

                                             

then the screen flickers    

my brain reboots

and the past three months

come charging back

                                             and I... remember why 

                                             she doesn't text

                                             and why she can't call

                                             still most days 

I will catch myself 

"saving things" 

for our nightly chats 

although she died 

                                            nearly three months ago...

                                            but when I listen  

                                            to her old voicemails

                                            her voice starlit

gathering warmth and love

I wonder what if 

what if

what if

the past is just another kind 

of time zone

__________________

Pic: Nu's pic of me, Max, and Huck napping. I guess I'm happy when I'm asleep? I love how Max sticks his tongue out when he's happy. (The plates of half-eaten food everywhere are Nu's thing while they're home on Thanksgiving break.)

field notes

I wear echoes

ragged through the city

when we talk

I talk only of childhood

I dream we dig

as if we know this earth 

and can't say why 

I wait to be turned back

they're all saying 

that leaving is necessary

they don't know 

I will never say goodbye 

_________

Pic: Red Cedar yesterday with Big A. At the start of our walk, it was tough getting my taped-up right foot into my sneaker. That made A say we should go to Urgent Care instead of on a walk, but I really needed a walk for my wellbeing. If my foot's broken, it has already been broken for over ten days, so what would another day matter anyway?

the lay of the land

like another woman
but for a very different reason

I tell you to lie back and think of England

you should go to sleep

I really have to go to sleep 
I have an early morning class, I have an early morning meeting, I have to wake up super early

so leave me be 
and just go to sleep
lie back think of England

that'll be terrifically bland 

and boring enough to be soporific 

think of Charles, I say. Think of Queen Elizabeth, think of Queen Elizabeth's purse

empty friend

try not to touch

this narrow secret

where turning informer

I learn the limits

of contagious history

the cold, lucid account

that decides if you

are calling for someone 

or just... crying  for them 

_____________________

Pic: Max and Huck eye the treat jar and contemplate ringing the bell for service.

the assumptive world

the year will go back

the earth will give back

this moment becomes a hinge

here an inner sense

and there an inner view 

begins between our worlds

I imagine us in sunlight

imagine us all in a fuller life

beautiful for longer than eyes can see

______

Pic: Baker Woods with L.

a physic of sisterhood

the swift traffic of anger and rage

the slow wheels of despair

hope breaking like time 

in a song

my childhood watches carefully 

as  your  cruelties turn into 

a street that forgot where

it was going

how you are writing your story 

for a small woman although

I know no small women--

am more than one

_________

Pic: Full moon last week (when I started this poem).

an echo without a wall

here, speak  to  Amma

my sister offers, holding 

out  the hair dryer to me

I gently receive the device

lift aside the strands of hair

caught in its grill, delicately

I set the roaring  machine

to my ear  where it  begins 

to angrily melt my earrings

at first I can't hear my mother

--speak a little louder--I beg

even as I feel bad for asking

as  she  sounds so, so  tired 

and  now she's  complaining

about how she forgot to bring 

any money with her

don't you remember this moment?

we are kneeling

at a cliff's edge

      in prayer 

      or defeat

rocks enthroned

trees congregate

      benumbed

      or tranquil

there you are born

dropping headfirst

      like a diver

      into life

your body, landscape

your cries a chorus

      all longing

      and love

__________

Pic: E.M.'s post-dinner pic of Max and Huck.

I will always be writing this poem

it may take years and years 
to tell me the world

but I am stubborn 

I am shocked in sections

to realize my mother 

open as a shadow 

in the middle of this life

I find myself lying

flat, face down 

following how my anger

gets lost late at night  

in family elegy

remembering two months

fractured from the hard symmetry of days

from the moment I open my eyes

 aware of every treachery of light

of going away, of disappearing

on rivers of might have been 

and can never will be again 

I beg mercy of shadows 

who, too, will flee 

from me 

_____

Pic: A full moon tonight.

prospectus

the yellow bruise of the morning 

is where I list wonders aloud

& I can't pick myself up

from bending silences

and lock on air

I dare any unknown to find me 

I draw maps to where I am

ghosts already know me

falling through the sky 

all breath only sighs

Pic: Max and Huck are surprised in the guest room.

I wrote about her a lot

...and it felt nice to share the quirky things she used to via the poems.

I wondered if it would make me sad, but it made me happy to see other people smiling and enjoying her quirks too. 

A reading from the Sing Anthology as part of the Chippewa Valley Writing Festival. 

the big ones

"If you kept the small rules, you could break the big ones." 1984 George Orwell

we're united in the day and earth

is dreaming

do whatever it is you want to do 

be quick 

even if your train of thought goes

off track

you're just supposed to know how

"stay calm"

seasons fade in Sunday's sunlight 

so what

even our shifting stars and stories

are no use

I understand what you hold on for 

--dear life

but the question is what we do 

what do we do

when so many of us haven't

died yet

____________

Pic: Ducks making ripples on The Red Cedar.

fugue

the road home winds slow 

my bicycle is nodding 

doors open drowsily

why must I tell this story 

                      the edges hesitate
                      tomorrow is unstated
                      but sure to arrive early 

_____________________________

Pic: I thought these were slugs on my hellebores, but they're teeny, tiny frogs--each one the size of a pea! The wonders I continue to discover, sometimes even in my own backyard, amaze me.

being a refrain

another day needs assembly 

even as the season begins

its theater again 

again the thousand mouths  

agape in hungry joy 

and song

singing like leaves crackling 

of the ache I've carried 

since I was 15

perhaps I should still be 15 

second guessing every

possibility: if, what if

as if in an infinity mirror until 

an appropriate darkness

descends like kindness

_______________

Pic: Huck needed to be carried part of the way by Big A on our long, hot Sparty walk. Max is a bit jealous. 

impossible: summer whimsy

the measure of summer 

weightless--not empty

every thing a miracle 

each of us kindred 

perhaps I could tell you 

about a time mornings 

brought frosted grass 

and me to my knees

how a rustle in the trees--

in the distance moves

us another week into

stalling and to fall 

lit as I am with longings

only waiting cures me 

I tell you one thing 

let me tell you all

___________________________

Pic: Buzzards (?) overhead as I walked into campus today. They were perched on the Eddy Building and took off as I walked alongside.

some media prompts and thoughts

Nu showed me this one: Google search "let's with mama" and click on the images tab. You'll get a bunch of cute pictures of animal mamas and babies doing cute, cuddly things together. Toddler Nu used to love "Mama and Baby" toys and pictures and I'm tickled to see that fondness made it to adulthood. 

We saw Weapons last week, and I've decided that I DO NOT LIKE it. There is a thread of ableism and ageism there I resent. IYKYK.

I am sad that And Just like That is going away. It wasn't a particularly good show, although it wasn't as terrible as this review makes it out to be, and I was mostly watching it out of nostalgia. And--after years of calling it "And so it Goes" and "That's What She Said"--I had just learned to say the name of the show right too. 

Saved the best for last. This spoken word piece by Sam Browne called "Guts" uses "dead babies" as anaphora and is heartbreaking, real, and amazing.

Pic: The koi pond at Radiology Gardens. Walk with L. 

going back where I came from

I could  lose  myself 

in much lonelier ways 

wandering on between 

no and now and nowhere

but then you tell me to go 

back where I came from 

I understand your animus

curled tight like my fist  

but I pretend confusion

& enact comic indecision:

all the way back to heaven
or just up my mom's vagina?

________________________________

Pic: Baker Woods looking magnificent. Walk with L.

a song to follow

I  know it can't  be summer forever

these anonymous days will end soon 

and though today I talk of happiness

tomorrow we will plan a resistance 

with 

voices 

eyes 

hands

the breeze 

lifting 

us like joy 

(or dismay)

the world is so loud with trouble 

and yet we feel almost immortal 

spreading like rumors, we wade in

knowing there's still time to be taken 

________________________________

Pic: It's almost as if it will stay summer forever... I'm so grateful for sunshiny light, for things growing madly, and for bird visitors. And yet, the news out in the world continues to be so dire...