Both my dad and my husband began a frenetic flurry
of adventures,trips, family get togethers before…
they even knew they had a death sentence.
As if the body knew time was running out.
their zest wore us out keeping up with their pace
Dad had two years to fight his cancer leaving us at 73.
Jim had two weeks to fight his cancer leaving us at 68.
Wish I had one more day to love on them.

Sunday morning streets
Squirrels and birds surround me
Ample company. 

dreamer awakens
with poetry on her breath
abracadabra

Scholastic Books delivery day,
from first grade through sixth–
my order, the thickest stack,
my eyes wide as teacher
sat them down on my
wooden desk

colourful covers,
the feel of the pages,
the sound they made as I turned them,    
the smell of a new book,
the weight in my hands

the joy of reading the title
and studying the cover–
guessing what stories lay inside

I would spend time holding
each new book, examining the spine
and guessing how many pages

soon, my arm shoots into the air,
and I look up
(the teacher, already looking
at me, knowing this was coming)

    Uhmm…Mrs. Spurlock, when do we get our next book club flyers so we can pick some more?

A mantle of mist this morning
hovers over the earth 
drapes across hills, hangs in the trees,
pulled up by unseen hands over unseen faces

A soft blanket as the world turns
(in between nightmares,
the restless shaking of a leg)
ever searching for the cool side of the pillow

Just for a moment, even the birds 
plucking carrion on the side of the road 
are shielded by these pretty little fogs 
that will eventually be burned up,

an offering to a flaming god
that demands a sacrifice

the world then again 
asking to be seen 
an invitation to grasp  life with both hands

I place a call  written in my hand  across a pale indigo page 
to not disappoint myself

the touch of cerulean sky  that version  full each day
her sneakered steps hurrying to the front porch  this portal of promise
being  a living being of the day

this air  as if sunrise held it
who says it doesn’t
what could it be like to be in life  daily

a hood isn’t necessary   grown 
is a biological given
yet there  inherent
a fuller capacity for
possible

as the day hands out all it possesses and provides
is this enough  this is enough
in all the ways meant

we’ve not reached full capacity to exist in wonder
take this bread  take this body
what if this is the biggest answering

even as I pluck the weed from the flower bed
chastising myself for doing a chore when I proclaimed this day a wonder one
this too  a small weed tucked between daisy fonds
even as I dip to untangle its roots from the soil  that needs remain
this too full
this is life  given
when I see it
a day  dreaming

There was a chic lady who loved to prance
She donned a new outfit her form to enhance
So tight in the middle
She walked with a wiggle
Too bad it was on back to front by mischance

The cucumbers can’t do this on their own. 

I wake highly opinionated
not knowing the facts.
I make coffee.  

Throughout the country
countable mirror images
do the same.  

I open windows.
An aroma of war
flutters through the bee balm.  

I’m falling down,
not hitting the ground
in a space without grab bars.  

I hunt something, something hunts me.
They circle to form a taijitu
to stand on.  

Paddleboard yoga takes balance.
Concentration evaporates
if I look for shore.

After Sappho’s It was summer when I found you

Summer’s heat drips sweet &
salty sweat from forehead,
eyes blinded, astringent droplets
seep into ducts, steam clouds

glasses as I stare straight into
the morning’s haze hovering
over meadow’s grasses
moistened by recent drizzles.

Tall legumes bairn’s steal
my heart. I do not lust, but love
what tethers me to sanity.
Swallows dart, catch insects.

Wet and ecstatic I revel
in this universe, my umbilical cord.