I have good taste

I love you from the roof.

I love you late at night with half-closed eyes to the sound of a ceiling fan.

I love you over tic-tac-toe and green elephants on white napkins.

I love you from the smell of the hood of your sweatshirt and the drag of your heels.

I love you to accidental fires and back, I love you to minor chords and major resolutions.

I love you in the deep coral red of your tongue and the
pleats where
your lips come together.

I have good taste.

I'm giving this to you as a gift:

A mother raccoon and her three babies were walking through the forest. The first baby raccoon said, "momma, why did you name me Mapleleaf?" The momma raccoon said, "when you were born, a maple leaf floated down off of the tree and landed on your forehead." A little while later the second raccoon spoke up. "Momma, why did you name me Rosebud?" "Well," said the momma raccoon, "when you were born a rosebud landed on your forehead, so we thought we'd name you Rosebud." Pretty soon the third little raccoon spoke up. "UMHHHG ANNG?" The momma raccoon said, "what's that, Cinderblock?"

vibrating

today's word is hyperactiveimagination

sugar

I am loving my life today--I am dancing around my kitchen with a cake and curling ribbons and Joanna Newsom.

LITANY

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine


~Billy Collins


[I love them all, but I really love this one] 

potluck

I spent this evening out in the goldening glow of the summer sun, listening to the guitar and fiddle and keyboard and drums drums drums played by my library coworkers. Dipped my feet into the water of the fountain at whose edge I ate my mock chicken salad and tater tots and fresh fruit salad and dark fudge brownies. And when we were done and the potluck packed away and the maracas put back in their place, I walked a half mile back to where I'd left my car barefoot, swinging my sandals by their straps and stirring around in my mind all the ways the sounds and the silence fit together. I am thinking to myself: aha. I do understand now the whys of summer.

soaked

I spent hours yesterday evening in an indoor waterpark in the heart of an outdoor rainstorm with a break in the middle of the evening to climb the steps to the bar overlooking the water and eat a burger and drink a beer and soak up the funky music coming live and hot from my boyfriend's band. Could you think of anything better?
There was a moment last night when I was standing at the hand dryer in the woman's restroom, wringing as much rain as I could from a rusty brown t-shirt, and I was thinking, damn, I don't even like this shirt, but I know that doesn't matter and it will never matter. I love the man the shirt belongs to and I suspect that I will always be willing to spend ten minutes in front of a hand dryer in a crowded, steamy restroom for this guy.
I'm not sure what else to say
to myself
about this other than to
ask me
please, please,

to own this.

dripping

My car has been leaking brake fluid and my mind has been leaking self assurance.

composition

You might have a mind full of melody and I may be always stuck in a chord, but I'm not concerned. The flat line that straggles along when I'm by myself grows into something with depth and height when we sit side by side and put our halves together.

plump with the correctness

I have been having a rather slumped-shoulders week and I think maybe that means I'm ready for fall. It gets to the point when a pair of legs danging from the first floor ceiling is no longer a mood booster. I mean! For a time that was the best thing I'd seen!
But anyhow, I've been just fine this week other than the dragging of my feet. I have grown fond of spaghetti squash, and I have my best friend's wedding dress hanging safely in its pink garment bag in my apartment. Last night by lucky chance I happened to cross paths going different directions with the man I love and he flew to me across the parking lot and picked me up and kissed me as if it'd been months since we'd been together instead of a day and a half. It made me spin. My mother and I finished a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle we'd been plodding at for thirteen days. And I was putting in the last few puzzle pieces with a mouth full of fresh, juicy blackberries from their neighbor as a thick summer (finally) rain pouring down in the darkness out beyond the dining room windows. The community band concert this week was full of kids' music, of theme songs to superheroes and kazoos and glow sticks. I will never begrudge you your glow sticks. When I got home from work the other day I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed my bathroom floor and mopped the kitchen and emptied the trash and bought a lamp for the side table by the couch, and every time I walk in the door I breathe a sigh of relief, a sigh of this is such a good home.
What I'm saying is, there's just very little wrong. At all. My life is right. Discounting, of course, the all-day work conference I have to go to tomorrow and goddamn money issues and my never ending cycle of heel blisters from all the walking I've been doing. But, I am feeling plump with the correctness of this all.

it has been one of these days:

Why shouldn't you wear snowboots?
Because they'll melt.

What kind of horses go out after dark?
Night Mares.

Two silkworms were in a race.
They ended up in a tie.

What did the termite say when he walked into the bar?
'Is the bar tender here?'

Why does a milking stool have only three legs?
Because the cow has the udder.

What's round and really violent?
A vicious circle.

How do you find a lost rabbit?
Make a noise like a carrot.


(am pretty sure the last one's my favorite)



(YES, that says something)

summer weekend

S and I spent the weekend riding roller coasters and water slides. I have yet to find anything better than love + adrenaline + delight + sunshine.

The colors and the sounds of an amusement park are almost enough. It's almost enough to watch the families and the faces parade past with their sunscreened smiles and bare backs and think: this is why I paid admission. Forget the mind-bending roller coasters and addictive music, forget lunch in Germany and a drink in Ireland and a dinner in Italy. It's almost worth it just to be there and be human.

I have very little fear when it comes to the big drops or the sharp turns. I like the heights, the sensation of coming back to the pool below. And I love the wetness. The floating. The splashes and the sinking under and the water droplets running down my back and flying from the tips of S’s hair as he shakes his head. My senses find it rich. I wouldn't ask myself to stop screaming along with the rushing water. It is incredibly freeing to be thundering down a long, twisty waterslide in the front half of a two-man inner tube and to just yell with delight and the sort of surprise that doesn’t go away even after the fourth time.

I dare you to try to convince me that something so sweet is not defensible.

ENDING

Maybe there is a Me inside of me
and, when I lie dying, he
will crawl out. Through my toe.
Green on the green rug, and then
white on the wall, and then
over the window sill, up the trunk
of the apple tree, he
will turn brown and rough and warty
to match the bark. But you'll be
able to see--(who will be
able to see?) his little jelly
belly pulsing with the heart inside
his transparent hide.
And, once on the top bough,
tail clinging, as well as "hands,"
he'll turn the purest blue
against the sky---
(say it's a clear day, and I don't die
at night.) Maybe from there
he'll take wing--That's it!--
an ARCHAEOPTERYX! Endless,
the possibilities, my little Soul,
once you exit from my toe.
But, Oh,
looking it up, I read:
"Archaeopteryx, generally considered
the first bird... (although)
closely related to certain small
dinosaurs... could not fly."
A pain... Oh, I
feel a pain in my toe!

~May Swenson

appreciation

I love the girl crying into the laces of her taffeta corset and the mechanics with cheerful salutes and the coworkers with ready OMGs and the uncles with knotted finger joints and the boy who responds to my pleas for attention in all caps and spelled correctly.

holiday

I had a fantastic day today--is it any wonder? It was full of spaghetti squash and coffee on the deck and sticky sweet little apples and loose screws of enthusiasm and cold beer and a good movie and better company and a community band concert from a stage packed shoulder to shoulder. Even though the air was so thick, so warm all day, I forgot that I'd been sticky and slow as soon as we were again on the highway after the concert had ended and been put away, windows down, night air flooding through. My hand on you, your hand on me. There could hardly have been a sweeter way to live a day off of work. I have been seeing so many fireworks.

boom

Up on the hill tonight I had fireworks all around me--red blue yellow white green purple--from all sides, in all sizes, untethered to the echoing booms across the rolling ground. You would hardly know which flashes were from spirits and which were from backyards and which were from city squares. It didn't matter.

unspooling

Oh lord, what a head, that leaps away from me when I need it most. I can be so incredibly incoherent when you hand me exhaustion and frustration and confusion all at once. It ends up coming out who am I? and what the hell do I do next? My brain is speaking a different language than the rest of my body.

It frightens me whenever I can't weigh the balance of I need me vs I need you. I think, if I don't even know this, of course I don't know how close the laptop screen, turn out the lights, and gently put myself to bed.

backhanding

Received this email from a patron today:

'Thanks for all your help. I could do my work nearly as well without you!'

My self-deprecation meter likes this. I think that's probably always true. You might end up missing perfection by inches, but you'd still be nearly as well without me.

I kid, I kid. I read your meaning. I appreciate the sentiment.

POEM OF GRATITUDE UPON CEASING MY GOD-LIKE BEHAVIOR

Thank you for summer
and the loose-jointed way I walk when it’s hot
I know it’s not becoming

Thanks for the cat
pressing his paw over ants in the patio cracks
the former me would stop him

Thanks for the way I slept last night
deep and long, uncaring
and thank you for the fire we’ll build tonight
it will singe moths and mosquitoes

This world is your doing
and finally I will not apologize
for letting it be done.


~Anne Piper

clearly

Last night I dreamed about jigsaw puzzles and snot.

This morning someone described me as 'unobvious.' I choose to take that as a compliment.