3 childhood homes

on the cool green lawn smooth legs stretch out to feel the cool against skin while fingers search among the blades for pecans brown and long just the right size to fit the palm of a small hand one end rounded one joined in a sharp point when two are pressed together and crack the buttery flavor of the nut can be enjoyed

as the soles of our feet enjoy the cool moist feel of sand not warmed by the days sun, our bodies turn without thought towards the known destination no memorable chatter remembered as we reach the piers to walk upon beside the sea wall the ocean splashes at our ankles and legs an outreached hand finds it place when the piers spacing challenges the step

soft ground and dim light trees taller than the nearest home the scent of pine rich to our noses just on the other side of the creek blocked from the view of home sitting crossed leg on the rich pine needle mat a first year in a new home finding our place beneath these tall trees

The Leaf and the Cloud

Flare,
a lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world.

From The Book of Time
I am thinking:
maybe looking and listening is the real work,
maybe the world without us, is the real poem.

Riprap –
beneath the leaves and the clouds of its thousand
and again, a thousand opportunities?

Gravel,
can you imagine a world without certainty?

Evening Star,
nothing could every convince me
that I was alone.

title and line poetry from Mary Oliver

hard things to talk about

first days of school are for sharing yourself with others
I’m a teacher with three dogs and a cat, and
two daughters

one summer my cat disappeared
sometime in June
on that first day of school I was afraid
to say I had three dogs and a cat

months had passed since I’d hung
“Looking for Luddah” signs around the neighborhood
I’d stopped actively looking
I lived with three dogs

one day there was a call
a Luddah sighting
after school we set off in the car
for Luddah

next door to the house that called
crouched beneath the shrub
meowed Luddah

I crouched and crawled
towards my cat
who accepted my reach
as I gently drew him to me

at home he shared
Eskimo kisses with Jack
and I am able to say
I’m a teacher with three dogs and a cat

solitary travel

We reside in a confined space called home.
Where time slips by unnoticed until marked by a moment.

Days pass filled with the predictable moments.
Lesson plans completed late at night.

An election celebrated in the hill country one night.
Strangers at picnic tables stare misty eyed at phones.

Connections across two states, a bordering country by phone,
mark evenings filled with chatter, the reason for the call.

Holidays pieced together with vestiges we call
ours. Mini-celebrations of chemo’s last day.

A classroom left vacant with a last day
on the horizon. Packed boxes piled on tables.

Thirteen years here, now I depart with Mother’s table.
We reside in the confined space called home.