the flit fluttering flip flap flocking
of wrens, chickadees, finches
swinging from sunflower to sunflower
in the sideyard
seeking seed
a sudden bustle
announcing the lurk and looming
of the season’s first freeze
like firework watchers
leaning against the wall as we speak
we are not holding it up
but we do the work of such an awkward task
trying to talk about gender
_______
the bacio gelato (chocolate with hazelnuts)
slowly melting in a little cup in my hand
as i sidewalk slowly in the afternoon
the crunch of leaves under my boot-clad feet
how the bight-so-bright-brightest red maple leaf
on my way makes me ooooh and ahhh
like firework watchers laid back on summer blankets
laid over the green green grasses of july
the stars are back
one of those days when, no matter which direction you bike,
it’s against the wind
i say about the bike ride into town
which also involved a lot of traffic
which meant a lot of concentration
_______
the stars are back i say
about teh recent skies whose sun and stars have been obsucred
by the hazes drifting 1,000+ miles from the west coast fires to here
wildfires there/here
the orange square of light
that the not-setting sun leaves
through the bathroom window
on the shower wall
this is what fires in the west
looks like in the midwest
we may not be breathing smoke
but still, the spirits of trees i whose bark i’ve pressed my own face to,
spirits of animals whose paths i have surely crossed
swirling in our rural wisconsin air
a slow covering over
the great blue heron
rising from the beaver pond waters
as i run on the ridge above
how i pause and turn to watch that
glorious grayblue wingspan
spreading out over the water
into the woods
_______
there’s no sun in the sky i say
about the day, illuminated from somewhere else
but still cool for being sunny
in a way that makes me think of the ice ages
a slow extinction/a slow covering over
of the sun
to be sun-soaked
luckily, it is a thing that has happened only twice
in our year plus some months of living with this cat:
tearing through the house before either of us have woken
(that’s not the thing that only has happened once… wait for it)
and play scrip-srape-scratching around in the litter box
until he has unearthed a piece of his own poop
to bat around the bathroom/bedroom
and so the day begins
with me jumping out of bed to hunt the cat hunting his poop
so i can hunt the cat poop
to put it back where it belongs
(believe me, if this cat didn’t have Feline Immune Virus,
i’d just let him run outside and poop
but if i let him run outside now
he could give the virus to another cat if they get into a fight
and there are tons of cats around here
and many-a-fight
and that’s how he got it in the first place)
_______
jennifer skipping – stoked to be sun-soaked
as we walk the long loop in the light
after five days of pacific northwestern winter rains
_______
cheese stalagmites i say
about the cheese stalactites that formed
on the placed-upside-down casserole dish lid
that covered the cheesy-topped stuffed green peppers as they baked
they drive out to the ocean to breathe
from portland friends
where the air quality is the worst in the world, next to seattle, due to the u.s. west coast being on fire:
my eyes are burning jesse says
i’m not sure if it’s the smoke or maybe that i need to cry
i didn’t notice it til just now because i’ve been paying so much attention
to my lungs/my breathing
i’ve only been outside once since monday (it’s saturday) for ten minutes
laura says do we have an evacuation plan?
what about go bags?
do we have what we need for the cats? and how would we take them with us?
the air purifier follows us everywhere we go, from room to room
shiz says about her partner and her self and their kid
like a beloved pet, i imagine, the cord to the purifier trailing like a tail
and birdie, a year plus, stripped down and ready to jump into the little
pool in the yard being told it’s too smokey, remember?, it’s too smokey,
we can’t go outside right now
solé reports from the woods she lives in
in a short video
ski goggles over her eyes and a mask
(an upgrade from the usual fabric mask to an N95)
showing the orange and dark air
while sharing how the smoke is everywhere now
(their small home-made home is not sealed tight)
so last night they had to sleep with masks on
and during the day they drive out to the ocean to breathe
and the van is packed
in case the evacuation zone bleeds into where they live
meanwhile
what’s-his-face visits california,
blames all the fire on poor forest management
instead of nodding to climate change
while continuing to slash whatever shreds of environment-protecting policies we had left
slashing left and right and left and right and left and right
until nothing is left
while the ashes of our beloveds
(though there are human casualties,
i’m speaking of the old growth,
the ferns and moss,
the creatures who have learned well how to burrow and nestle in
through the long cool wet winters,
the clear crystal snowmelt rivers,
the greenest green,
the flowingest springs and rivers)
swirl about us
dancing their death down
into our hearts, into our bad dreams of the future which is actually the present, into our lungs, our heartbreak, our stamina, our collective grimace
medicine we are making
the deep purple/fuschia
of elderberries in honey and vinegar
and elderberries in alcohol –
medicine we are making
to keep us well into the future
_______
the small furry shred of velvetleaf on my tongue
in the thoreau college house yard
after linda says it’s edible
like spinach she says about cooking it down
tastes mostly like nothing to me
_______
the list of places that solé and mahogany share
that have burned and not burned at breitenbush:
the bridge burned
the guest houses burned
the sanctuary and the vista burned
many of the community dwellings are safe
but some have burned/tree fallen on
blossoms against the sky
lisi the cat trotting along on his leash and
for some reason, looking pig-like
when he stops to smell the wind
which is kicked up and wild
_______
juniper pointing out the lilac tree, which already bloomed and faded in the spring
now blooming again, light purple blossoms against the sky
and later, she points out some orange lilies doing the same
sad cat story #69894
in the unexpected twenty degree drop in temperature and all-day rain
the cat who lives down the way curls up on our porch in a box
lined with cashmere sweaters on top of styrofoam
and there is a certain kind of sweet-sad
of a cat who prefers a janky cardboard box of a home built with love
to an actual home of barking dogs and barking people and cigarette smoke and tv-on-all-the-time noises and also the teen boy that loves him
and calls him smokey
we used to tell him to go home a lot
even though it’s always a weird heartbreak to do so –
to say we love you, but please go home
and tonight, i boil the hot water
pour it into a glass bottle
seal the lid on
drop the glass bottle into a wool sock
and deliver the insulated hot water bottle
to the cat squatting our porch, his purrs reverberating
in the cardboard cozy cave
while i nestle the heat in among the sweaters
detail collector 
