Monday, June 27, 2011

how i feel this late in june

There is cotton in the air

and a softness about us
like the ears of rabbits.
Every thing
parallels everything:
the cottonwoods let go
their lifted seeds and all day
I remember the smell
of your shirt in my hands.

To think the quiet den
of my heart was only brush
until your mouth half opened—
held my love, your love,
on the tip of the tongue.
There is no room to hesitate,
the seeds have settled.
I am not the same.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

field trips

today we went to rosario beach with the second graders. i was chaperoning two boys: kevin, who i think was wearing the same jeans as me, and alan, who is short and squat with squeezable cheeks. alan was very excitable and careful on the rocks while looking at tide pools, and kevin, who is sometimes grouchy, enjoyed himself thoroughly and only wiped mud on two girls. i tried to interest them in the kingfisher overhead, but the crabs were of more interest, and also the small sculpins that look like rocks. we ate lunchables in the sun. (yes, i did too, and it was delicious.) on the bus, i fell asleep, probably with my mouth open, and the girls made fun of me. that is why i like boys.

Monday, June 13, 2011

foxy loxy, math tests, and variations on my name

today i read Henny Penny to the kids and i didn't remember, or failed to accept, that in the end Foxy Loxy eats everyone for dinner and the king never finds out the sky is falling. such is life.

today i took my algebra final (!). don't let this picture fool you into thinking that i studied.


Sunday, June 12, 2011

reading and succeeding

there are no kids in this picture, but there were a lot of kids at our literacy event on friday! there was also a fire truck, police car, race car, an artist, a chef, and a professional runner, among others. it was fun.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Saturday, June 4, 2011

june fourth

Teaching First Graders to Count Backwards

Heading east across 
the state, the trees vanish
one after the other, until
there are none.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

june second

like birdsong

Though the seasons are evenly
spaced, every year I manage
to forget the songs of birds.
Just today I heard the black-headed
grosbeak’s high wavering notes
and recalled teaching you
ornithology on Garden Street.
We started with a plastic owl
and the baby sound of terns crying
in the distance. Somehow we ended
here, with a mountain bluebird
whistling, bright as ferry weather sea.
This whole world is full of sounds
that will haunt me each season.
Oh, there are parts of me I cannot save. 
There are parts of you
that have become like birdsong. 

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

june first

Poem for June

I want bells of Ireland in a vase
on the table, and a bowl of raspberries.
I want to eat raspberries all day
and think of nothing but you—
as if I know who you are, as if I know
who it is I am missing at all.