touch-up painting
it’s so easy
to let the years go by
without registering
the little scuffs and dings
the chinks in the smooth clean surfaces
carelessness’s scars
it doesn’t take long
to bring attention and a clean brush
to see and smooth the rough patches
to touch the scarred bits with
soft gentle strokes
until the wall glows whole again
and we know the joy
of putting things right
homecoming
our house surrendered
we resume possession
of our regular lives
still irregular
as our neighbors friends family
stand at a distance
out on the sidewalk
masked and awkward
but it is still something
to see their bodies
through our open door
still comforting
to breathe our old house’s
singular smell –
antique timber, dust, sunshine, memory
as the day drifts down
the house welcomes us
in its own way
casting rainbows on the wall
from stained glass prisms
granting us a place to be at ease
at home again
nests revealed
while waiting patiently
for the hairy woodpecker mother
to bring the very large flying bug
to her babies
two more nests reveal themselves:
a flicker flies straight to an aspen
where a branch becomes a hole
and while watching him
a mountain chickadee is
swallowed by trunk
when we’re silent and still
not rushing
the world brings us into
her inner circle
pandemic
when the threat is everywhere
to everyone
at once
worrying that anyone you know
may die
at any time
knowing there’s nothing you can do
but withdraw from all those
you may soon lose
remembering to stop and feel
sun on your skin
sometimes
and give thanks that for now
you still smell roses
still taste wine
Extroverts
we puzzle for a moment
running down the
extended-family checklist
there has to be one
doesn’t there?
we sit together in silence
thinking
found mission
from a letter mailed 21 July 1992:
I want to teach people
without having a lesson plan & rows of desks.
I want to be outside
& get dirty
& write
& smell salt air
& help the environment.
after the trifecta
after all these days weeks months years
we still genuinely like each other
(harder to achieve than loving)
for this and all the other joys
that have come along with
these three main lights in my life
may I always feel grateful and blessed
even in dark hours
mine or theirs or ours
you’d never give up on me
he says
no, I wouldn’t
I agree
may it always be so
even when the road’s nearly washed out
and the lightning’s going sideways
and the rain’s a perpendicular blur
there’s always the distinct possibility
we’re headed straight toward rainbow
Double-digit Cedar
he wants a world
where all the pieces fit
where positive and negative balance
and everything adds up
but he also does his best
to quadruple his luck
dousing himself at the spring
he surrounds himself
with cute and fuzzy
and finds new ways
to leap off windowsills
and hammock extremely
and he finds a way into
any mud puddle out there
his sweetness matches his size
and although he’s getting closer
to eye-level every day
he still comes and finds me at the spruce
still joins me under the canopy of sky
still shares his stuffy wealth with me
still is my little son
with the extra big heart
20 memories
3 people squeezed on a school bus seat
riding home from Clambake
each skinny, saying
I’m sorry my hips are so big
♡
lying on the floor in Hedge
someone offers us a second pillow
we decline
our fates are sealed
♡
driving through the Maine woods
you at the Wheel
of the Spirit of ‘76
then waiting patiently
while I learned harp
♡
walking to a hardware store
at the counter you said
we need a wrench
I grinned –
we existed
and you knew
how to fix things
♡
getting used to
grey striped Peruvian blankets
forgetting that they itch
♡
first backpacking trip
unable to lift the pack
I thought
I can’t do this
after a day camping off in the woods
Gary Snyder running through my mind
deciding
we could live this way forever
♡
our sleeping bags on Mount David
you me the cold stars joy
♡
migraine in the middle of the night
I called you, scared
you walked to me in the dark
and held my head
♡
1993
EMS gave us free trees
we illegally planted on Green Mountain
our oldest descendants
♡
standing in the field
watching dozens of herons
on their nests –
found magic
♡
puppy Chavo
one soft ear folded forward
tail unsure about curling
red collar so loose about his neck
head tilted
listening
♡
on the Molehill
in the dark
a bottle of wine
a perfect proposal
punctuated by skunk spray
♡
starting our honeymoon
taking the backroads
to Pennsylvania in August
‘84 Subaru
no AC
who else but us
does this?
♡
in the stillness of Lenin’s tomb
my glasses case snaps shut
the AK-wielding soldier
is not amused
when we escape
we can’t stop laughing
♡
riding ponies in Mongolia
nothing but land and sky before us
hours later, back at the ger
muscles so sore
we must strategize
about how to
lie down
♡
staking out your bike at Macky
then seeing our house
knowing it was right
♡
crying each time
we met our
perfectly beautiful
healthy strong
sons
♡
standing on the broad top
of Longs Peak with you
twice
feeling safe
♡
finding Elk Lake
after all those years
sleeping as far from roads
as a Coloradan can
♡
you standing beside me
for three funerals
and all that came before them
♡
there’s no way to fully catalog
you + me
no way to save
every miraculous kindness done
or extraordinary experience shared
I have no doubts
the next score of years
we’ll love being together
even more
meeting Camilo the green-cheeked conure
his little golden body hesitated
then his small pale beak
gently probed my index knuckle
and, finding it firm, fleshed, human
(though likely not as kind as my son’s)
he bridged the gap
between my son and me
straddling his hand and mine
then stepped over
accepting me enough
to enter my sphere
what joy
to hold another life
sweet as pineapple rings
glowing like sunset
to be found worthy of trust
at least for that moment
in this world
split into us and other
with limitless capacity
for cruelty,
like my sons
this little bird reaches out to me
and holds my hand
entrusts himself to my care
allows us
a chance to be gentle with each other
to see life
from another eye-level
