We like our joy unhygienic

Today we gathered up
the juicy joy of the earth
and held it in our hands.
Maybe, just maybe,
some of us popped it
straight in our mouths.

Two years ago today

I started a company.
So I celebrated with a
super-classy vintage bubbly.
My sommelier relatives might
try to die.

At last.

Today a thought floated
through my head, unbidden:
Oh, look. It really is all going to be okay.

Down the lines

Seven minutes before my class started,
I got a phone call.
“She needs to tell you something,”
said my sister.
Mommy? Earlier when I was so mad?
And I said those mean things?
Like idiot and I hate you?
When you were in the bathroom I hided
your favorite book and your shoes under the couch,
and I wanted you to know where they are in case
you wanted them and I feel bad and I don’t want
you to be sad and I hoped I wouldn’t forget where I put them.
Thank heaven for The Auntie.
Apparently The Child confided her wicked deed
and said sorrowfully,
I feel so bad about it.
But I know Mommy will understand my feelings.

The drive to the ranch:

Harrowing.
Worth it.

Chickens

She went to see the chickens.
There used to be four, but one ran away,
and the rooster was obnoxious, so now
they only have two.
Those two venerable hens were plump and brown
and they laid
EGGS.
Real live eggs!
That she brought home!
And we scrambled! and cooked!
and ate!
In our own very own house.
That the chickens made.
In REAL LIFE.
If that doesn’t seem like
an absolute screaming miracle to you,
then I prescribe a strong dose of
four-year-old,
to be taken immediately.

Tentative

Slowly,
so slowly,
bits of order begin
to emerge.
We begin to set in place
the shape
of who we will be now.

Our last night here

It’s been the longest sleepover ever.
My brother and sister-in-love have been champs.
We did some damage. We smashed:
two drinking glasses,
a lightbulb,
a plate,
their kitties’ equilibrium,
and their utilities bill.
But don’t worry.
Their teeny little crocheted booties
(courtesy of baby sister)
are just fine.
We can’t wait to meet their owner.

Forget The Forest.

Sometimes you can’t see the tree
for the leaves.
But then you climb it
anyway.

Putting down roots

Rains of Portland, water me.
Sprouts of Portland, green me.
Flowers of Portland, bloom me.
Wide open spaces,
unfurl me.