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Archive for June, 2016

 

 

Hi friends … if you’re near the Front Range this weekend, I hope you will join me and Art Goodtimes and Judyth Hill at our debut performances as AJAR~a poetry troupe … who knows what might happen?

 

On Friday, June 17, we will read 7-8 p.m. at Innisfree in Boulder (http://innisfreepoetry.com/) … an entire bookstore of poetry. I LOVE that this store exists.

 

On Saturday, June 18, we will be reading 7-9 p.m. at the Book Bar in Denver, (http://www.bookbardenver.com/event ) a bookshop and wine bar … fabulous!

 

I promise it will be fun …

 

Rosemerry

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One Missing

 

 

dancing alone

in the kitchen—

when a memory

steps on my foot

I rush to kiss it

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Nantes

 

 

 

It is deliberate work

thinning the carrots,

the fingers slowly traveling

the row. It is right

that it should be careful,

unweaving the slender

green stems, choosing

the sprouts that will stay,

tugging on the thin white threads

of roots that must go. It is right

that there is tenderness

in the hands as they do

what need be done,

though the work

is non-sentimental.

Where there are too many,

none will thrive.

There is room for this fact

in the gardener, though

it is easier, somehow,

to pretend that there

is no metaphor

worth noticing, just

the task at hand, giving

each carrot enough room

to grow. They’re just carrots.

It’s just a garden.

 

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Runoff

 

 

 

We are perhaps

like the plover

who made her nest

in the rocks

too close to the river’s

edge. The water

is rising rapidly.

We never

expected loss.

We almost

forgot that we

have wings.

 

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Even now,

as you hang

over the edge

of a cliff,

one hand dangling

empty

above the sheer

chasm,

the other

holding

a thin

brittle

branch,

isn’t it

oddly

wonderful

the only

thought

that hasn’t

fled in fear

is that

this, too,

would be

a great time

for kissing.

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now around every corner

they are no less thrilling

bright lady slippers in the woods

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finding myself waist-deep

in a mud puddle,

unsure

if I’d rather

have you pull me out

or if it might not

be more fun

to pull you in

and reel in mud

together

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I Tell Myself

 

 

 

Be like a river,

shaped by the past,

always finding

a new way

to travel

the same stretch.

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relentlessly lovely

cheat grass glazed with last night’s rain

backlit in morning sun—

all those wicked prickers

shining, luminous

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One Wandering

 

 

 

 

before seeing the bush

the scent of a wild rose—

the crow and I alone together

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