poetry

walking with you

walking with you

I like walking with you
talking about the plots of our books
and my grumbling knees
while the sun burns down on us
and we take in lava and snow
and avoid massive flies
(while we also avoid complaining
about massive flies)
and plan out which bebidas frias
we will request from Café Thomas
at the end
oh yes
there are so many things
I’ve liked today
but the most refreshing of all
is walking with
you three boys

someday probably all we’ll remember is how
we went up the side of that pointy volcano
in Chile one time –
that was a good day –
but for right now
while it’s all still fresh and textured
and I can see the horses on the trail
and the abandoned hut on the slope
and how I cut the switchbacks
and how you didn’t want to meet the Americans,
while I still know why it was a good day,
I’m going to put some of it down right here,
knowing we’ll likely never go back

poetry

Llanquihue

Llanquihue

in the postcard-perfect panorama
surrounded by white peaks
that sometimes glow red
all is well –
grebes dive
and the mist does not descend –
at least
not right now

poetry

lone votive, Monte Calvario

lone votive, Monte Calvario

one candle
in a grey corner
when the wind is wailing
flickers warmth
it grows from an old
white wax mound
reassuring us all
that before long
someone will come
with a little more light
and strike the next match

but I don’t feel warm
in its presence
only anxious to leave
before I can witness
the wind whip it away

jokes

SUPER FUNNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:);):):):)

JOKES @@@@ 2020

BY CEDIE ROBERTSON

HigHlight the black blocks to find the answers

WHAT ARE SHEEP’S FAVORITE 3 WEBSITES?????????????????????????:)

INSTARAM, EWETUBE, AND FACEBAAAHHHHK:0:)

WHAT DID THE SQUIRREL SAY WHEN IT SAW A UFO??????????????:0:)

THATS NUTS:0:)

WHAT DO YOU CALL A COMEDIAN TYING THEIR SHOES??????????????:0:)

KNOT FUNNY:):0

poetry

museless

museless

I don’t have a muse
someone outside this realm
who whispers words to me

even so
sometimes my antennae go up
and quiver saying
right now the universe
is ready to reveal something
if only I stop
and leave myself at least as open

sometimes I feel a little lonesome
with no otherworldly guide
only this exceedingly wonderful
boatload of beings
each pointing a way
in fallible tones
not possibly conflated
with the certainty of madness

poetry

the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

my father’s legs
bent together knees left
wasted bony
too long to lie straight
in the hospital bed
shins covered with claret bruises
his feet in blue protective booties
heels hidden by white dressings
his skin too thin
to take all the lying around

after visiting hours
my sister and I
apply pressure to
our own open wounds
with a bottle of red