Virucene #20 (2020 NaPoWriMo #3)

Red-tail Hawk snow

In these virucene days when I want to walk,
I take stock of the stalks frying in my wok
And divert my mind to the freewheeling hawk
Watching for tiny snow creatures to stalk.

The wingbeats, soft rustle, parting fair
The thin mountain air, so clear, so rare
Muffling the despair, when I declare
That the stalks are burning in my cookware.

I think of the prairies, Willa Cather and weight
Of berries she carries for boys on the their way to war
And my worries, my furies, my indiscriminate
Adversaries fade out the front door once more.

Finally, when I’m only and pronely couching it
Lonely picking burned stalks, denouncing it
I squash my heard heart astounding it
And open up to the beauty’s encore

The Lion, The Witch, and The Library (2020 NaPoWriMo #2)

Blog PO Box 249

 

 

 

 

 

 

First thing, first summer morning,
Mom pulled the Impala into the
Main Street, Timberland Library,
Downsloping diagonal parking.

The thick shake-shingle front, long since
Painted bright,
But for 1970s us, a damp doorway
Into vast, uncharted worlds.

A long block up to the District Courthouse
Opposite, down and to the right, past my
Father’s school district office
Then left, Fleet park.

Across Pioneer Avenue the post office
Where our 249 box puzzle fit
With our 249 phone prefix
And I had a key.

Another doorway, opening onto
Any possibility:
Grandparents cards plus checks
Military school boy letters

My home was
Five miles from any of this.
A trip to town,
Another world.

Scooping Poop: A Story of My Life (2020 NaPoWriMo#1)

Gus 3 years old

The ritual: scoop, shake, dump.
Daily there are 5-7 piles of manure
Stirred until the “road apples”
Are scattered

Toss the sawdust up against the walls
Sloping mountain sides dotted with mines
Scoop, shake, dump
Every day, the same.

Every day, more precious than my own
Heartbeat
My love is measured in every
Scoop, shake, dump

Again, this morning.
Again, tonight.
Again, tomorrow.
The beauty, the hope, the perseverance.

Scoop. Shake. Dump.