mississippi mud climbin

tunica falls, MS
May 09

woodswalk with fine friends
we ran fleetfooted downhills and back up and back up and back up
waterfall watched
climbed down the mudrock to rescue the groundwater from plastic waterbottles
opening it to smash it down to pack it out
i unleashed a bright blue liquid into the creekbed
freaky
no one should be drinking stuff that color

i practiced lifting up
putting space between my joints
get some tree-clean air in there

i noticed how we breathed together
spun over fallen trees
cartwheeled in the creek
we climbed a muddy bank, steep, 20-25 feet
slid down
dubbed it mississippi mud climbin
rad

i asked
what is the smallest sound?
we quiet walked,
then wordlessly, we sat

birdsound
feetcrunch
water-fall
treewind

i watched a leaf
it spun down crazily
beautifully crazy--staying within some wild spiral
till the end, in water, casting ripples

chad said

i found the smallest sound:
the sound of the leaf landing on the water

i said

i was thinking it would be good to live like the leaf
plunging in, moving with every bend of the wind, free, trusting

chad said

yeah, so brief and crazy
yet with such grace

i said

then it ripples the water
changes things
its energy changes
maybe the fall is the life
or maybe the fall the time in between lives
in the other space
and the time on the water is the life, rippling out

scott did not speak
kept listening
quiet waters running deep

ABQ

albuquerque, NM
may 09

good friend visit
former roommates leigh and patrick
in ABQ early this may
leigh on hiatus from lit PHD introduces
a new baby to the world, seamus
diapers and milk and tummy time
strollin baby hot sun baby bike wreck marathon brave baby
all baby all the time
patrick sighs
leigh rolls her eyes

i slid right in
sourdough whole wheat blueberry pancakes
fine cookery and crockery
i changed six diapers--my first six
(so pro mom and dad didn't even know)
early morning bike rides slow climbs up
pretty margaritas laugh like old times worn well into new
relaxed love comes in waves of trust and patience
we pick up zucchini, leave the wine out over night, tingle a bit
we walk foothills, cacti stick, leigh trusts me to carry seamus
13 days old
slung over my shoulder
squeaking like my new pair of shoes
each step we take

at west mesa high where patrick teaches
i performed my poetry
he got the mics out
we read what we wrote
i wrote:

albuquerque,

your sand-painted squares sit low, tell secrets
your black-eyed mountain eats morning sun
your windchime air smells like smoke and sweet ochre
your cerulean sky divides itself into cold nite
you seek the shadows, dig arroyos, sing the old songs
i hear you thirst for more, but you settle
be careful not to dry up, waiting for the rain

elf warrior emerging

baton rouge, LA
may 09

walked around the garden district
in the median
under old live oaks sprawling shade
grey may day
i picked up a stick and swung it
got increasingly karatefied as i went
forgetting the neighbors
lost in a vague elf-warrior fantasy

it's amazing what proper Adults pretend not to see
teenagers absolutely ran from me
too much uncool to even gaze upon
might get turned to nerd medusa-style
28 year old jabbing and cartwheeling
down the city median
dangerous

oh but the 10 year olds understand me perfectly
they see the peace warrior, the ninja, the adult they dream of being
almost impossible: up in the trees, barking back at dogs
avoiding piles of dogshit with extravagantly agile albeit unnecessary leaps
swinging my staff so it airwhips
got my mind on my mission and my mission on my mind

peace warrioring--
pickin up trash and smiling conspiratorially
playing panpipes from the top of a magnolia
leaving flowers i made outta metal in mailboxes and plantboxes
leaving good books on ratty doorsteps
giving directions
singing

next time, i'm goin ahead and wearing my cape