Hope

one can tell a little
maybe even, a lot

about what “hope” means to someone

as the garden’s fruits and blooms
are winding down,
on verge of frost,
light or hard

in October

will they glean the last remnant of the apples and pears from the trees for sauce, butter or crisp

or will they leave them be
for
the deer,
rabbits
raccoons,
possums
or marmots

will they cut the last of their garden’s
snapdragons, borage,
zinnias, marigolds, amaranth
and bring them indoors to fill vases for their temporary gaze

or will they leave them be
that,
an errant
monarch,
red admiral,
honeybee,
moth
or hummingbird

may find
a hibernation,
migration,
or last supper
meal

a sweet sustenance
an oasis lifeline
a traveling mercy

Continue reading “Hope” →

phenology II

lilacs re-leaf, re-bloom
in October
hummingbird moths feed,


common lilacs [Syringa vulgaris]
— not cultivars —
in unprecedented re-leaf and re-bloom
October 12, 2024


and simultaneously,

She’s un-be-coming a human be-ing

She’s destined to,

we’re destined to, too


no
need to
tell me, explain
what’s happening

as constant witness,

as constant, remote witness

to slaughter,

as constant gardener,

as constant tender,

as constant

daughter,


i see.

i recognize.

i know,

Continue reading “phenology II” →

ghosts

if you’re seeing this, you’re alive,

though dying — no matter your age, health, relative safety, relative comfortability —

on this living, though suffering and actively dying, planet

Earthlings and Earth together in a protracted hospice

right now, in these brief years, these grief years,

we are the “ever-living ghosts of what once was”

a “was” that most all of us alive this morning have never known as lived experience — save for the untouched tribes — 10,000 Uncontacted Peoples — 10,000 unsystematized, “uncivilized”

and the Ocean, and the few, still-standing Ancient One Trees; the untouched Desert, and the Mountains — even the youngest of them — The Tetons and The Himalayas, know what it “was” to be alive.

we are mere ghosts, walking dead.


Continue reading “ghosts” →

asters, monarchs & crone

i offer purple bouquets

rooted in the ground,
not dying, wasted, in vase or pot

this purple
reflected in your eyes, my eyes

monarchs married in our october gaze

we’re not long for this world, we, monarchs, asters, and crone

still, we feast, without any gluttony, waste or fear

one of us, prepares for honeymoon flight to Mexico

where marigolds and death await

later, birds with bellies filled by aster, will seed a known, unknown future

crone’s eyes full and clear, she sees it all, near and far, past, present, future, winter and spring

she is rooted too, laughing and grieving in the threshold

between death and the future, future and the death

between remnant wild and final ravagement

between time and anti-time

thousands of purple petals cascade from her crown chakra like asters //

Continue reading “asters, monarchs & crone” →

astronaut

if it weren’t for here
i wouldn’t be here
i couldn’t be there
or anywhere

else

among
aliens

robust in joyful denial
robust with joyful apathy

and here,
even still,
i am at risk

of floating away

like an astronaut
on a space walk

i use tether and carabiner
to travel now

out on that wire, i view the world from above, with its steel exoskeleton and hollowed-out core

it’s hard to find any natural or human anchorage

i search for a meadow, south of a ramshackle farm house, along a red dirt road, and hand over hand, i pull myself back down, back in, for a while

to be

held in, held down by

Continue reading “astronaut” →

Neith

after weeks of near-drought, there came a life-bringing rainstorm,

and so Neith from her realms, overnight, joined in world-building, world-weaving with her Earthly kin

laying gossamer highway across the tree canopy, the meadow and the garden — an autumnal garland, glistening in the september morning light, heralding equinox


Continue reading “Neith” →

Becky

she insisted we roll the car windows down
even though the a/c was cranking
and she just kept it cranking all the while,

in her mid 90s silvery Saturn sedan,
second-hand from her parents,
three little boys crammed in the back seat
a baby girl not yet in her belly,
as we drove down the Kennedy, then the Dan Ryan, heading to the Skyway
for our weekly day-trip
to the southwest Michigan coast

our cooler stuffed with tarragon chicken salad sandwiches for us, fried chicken drumsticks for them, at least two pounds of black cherries, pickles, diet cokes, limes, and capri-suns — the box of white cheddar cheez-its hardly ever made it all the way to the Warren Dunes on the ride from Chicago

for the eastern shore of aaThe Lake, the beach, the inlet hike to the clay pit,
the Dune climb, always hoping for some gentle, yellow-flag waves, and the long, eastern time-zone Sun’set over platinum blue water

perplexed, delighted by this novelness, by her unconvention:

a/c on our skin — and summer air blowing in our hair?

Continue reading “Becky” →

institutional knowledge

another part of mourning, an enduring part of mourning:

the loss of the “institutional knowledge” of you that they alone held, documented and archived;

when

a life-long, childhood or early adulthood friend

a beloved mother, or grandmother, or father,

a harmonious sibling, a close cousin

a long-time lover,

a partner in a long marriage, officiated — or not

a child whom you birthed or raised and who may have also birthed or raised you, have mercy.

when, those relationships become one-sided through death — or other endings,

not only are they gone,

Continue reading “institutional knowledge” →

Penny


an experimental poem derived
in automatic writing beyond the midnight

work steals away the days
and i miss my laziness.

i do not miss my ignorance.
i do miss my trust – my rarest treasure –
i used it all up: a life-time supply gone —

just like that!


my realism’s been distilled into a cynicism; a bitterness no syrup in the spoon can mitigate; i swallow it down.


i have a trust investment advisor now.
they tell me who to invest in, with and for:

no one?

i do miss my strong body
and his;
how it can all go to shit in an instant
how it does all go to shit in an instant:
liar. cheater. embezzler. addict. gambler.
drunk driver, ladder, mass shooter, assault, tick, cancer.

a penny for my thoughts?

— can you afford that?

my thoughts, a penny each — i am feeling generous, and extend you a discount.


so you want to be rich?

or, you want me to be poor?

i will deposit my thoughts in you,
i will spend my thoughts on you,

and you, we, love,
will be so full, so wealthy.
you, we, will never go hungry /or thirsty/
or be too cold, ever
or too hot – except intentionally

i, we, will go for broke, but not break
or, rather, let’s not break at the same time, honey;
i can go first.
no, you.

eat and drink my thoughts, and i yours.

but my pleasure is in your dessert.

i am a mouthful – a mouth-full.

Continue reading “Penny” →

hush


Israel Is A Rogue Terrorist Entity

Israel is a rogue terrorist entity. And it’s coming to a municipality near you by way of dozens of militarized cop cities — pigs trained by the IDF and Unit 8200 — empowered by algorithms and AI analyses — and the never-expiring, always-expanding Patriot Act.
So, you think you’re safe because you’re not in a paramilitary; because you’re a good type of “citizen”?
maybe you think you’ll go abroad, become an ex-pat?
but where to go, American Pariah?
you think you’re safe because
you’re not in the resistance? (yet)
you’re not an activist — against genocide? against environmental and climate destruction? against systemic injustice? (yet, yet, yet)
you’re not hungry or thirsty or homeless? (yet)
your loved one hasn’t been brutalized or executed by police or the national guard? (yet)

We are living in a

Philip K. Dick-ian World.


Continue reading “hush” →

a reader’s digest *almost-worthy* story

as i sit here on my deck on a beautiful, late August, Sunday morning in rural southwest Michigan reading an article about surviving a bear attack at Signal Mountain in Grand Teton National Park in May 2024,

i am reminded that

one of my very favorite things as a kid was to visit my great grandmother and to sit in her rocking and folding lawn chair, all by myself on the tiny porch — of her modest, peach-colored stucco bungalow at 2229 West Oakdale Avenue in Chicago — because i didn’t have a porch, only a stoop at CHA’s Julia C. Lathrop Homes where i lived as a child (privacy, peace and quiet were rare there) — and comb through her Reader’s Digest magazine collection for stories of wilderness experiences and encounters with wildlife — especially the ones with predators: sometimes, not everyone survived in those excerpted stories /

but very soon, that intense desire to experience the outdoors which all those stories inspired in me was entirely extinguished when i went *with zero experience* on a three day/two night camping-canoe trip along the Fox River for my 8th grade class graduation trip;

me and another 13 year-old girl classmate were paired together in a canoe in a group of 5-6 canoes / i went wholly [un]prepared with a borrowed, indoor Barbie slumber party sleeping bag from one friend — and my best friend Jill’s dad’s old army reservist mess kit — everything stuffed into a single, tripled black garbage bag to keep my “gear” dry in case we tipped and went into the river /

my beloved Jill couldn’t go because that winter she was suddenly stricken with Raynaud’s Syndrome and was extremely ill from another, yet-undiagnosed, life-long, autoimmune disease /

my classmates and i slept outside on the bare ground without a tent and woke up covered in dew, very wet and very cold both mornings (while the adults occupied two very dry and warm pup tents) //

without any forewarning that i recall, we had to pee (and presumably, some of us also pooped) into holes dug in the ground within earshot of our 13 & 14 year old [boy] classmates and male teachers // the only other girl on the trip got her period on the first night and had to use a sock as a menstrual pad because none of the male teachers thought to come prepared in event for that very routine female bodily function — and apparently, none of our functionally useless 1970s mothers suggested this to us — or to them — or had planned for it, either //

around the campfire the first night, which was a Friday, our teachers told us in a very serious manner that the camp in the film Friday the 13th — “Camp Crystal Lake” — was actually based on a true story at nearby youth camp— we had, in fact, passed a road sign for “Crystal Lake” (a Chicago suburb) en route; while, i had not yet seen the film — the others filled me in in great detail — it no longer felt very good or safe to be on the trip with them — even after the teachers’ retractions and reassurance that they were “just teasing”

i didn’t even know what “portaging” was until we were actually in the act of portaging.

Continue reading “a reader’s digest *almost-worthy* story” →