all the different things you can mistake for a bird

 

Now the trees are a burnt sienna.

As songbirds move north over the city

you return from a trip east with your arms  

full of tomatoes, a new shirt. I am discerning.

The tomato was once said to be noxious

for leaves akin to deadly nightshade.

I don’t blame anyone-- even tonight

there are storm clouds on the radar

while the ground is dry as bone. 

I don’t care whether you see a cloud 

or a flock of birds: when you look at the sky

I see the underside of your chin.

We learn migratory birds burn muscle

for water during flight, not fat, and it is only

the leaves of tomatoes that can kill you.

Look how knowledge doesn’t expand, it

changes. When we met you were wearing

a different shirt, the trees were an asparagus

green, and I was with another man.

Tell me, what will you cook with your tomatoes?

i'm not a player i just crush a lot

coming up later this week: crafts with purpose.

can you tell we're sisters?

i try not to look directly at the sun.

who can resist this face? i guess i will feed him.

house and dog sitting for my parents this week! good thing they like to cuddle. or else i'd be lonely.

a lost poem

I can be glad I am up early

this first morning without you.

I have bought the good eggs

and the good coffee.

I do not miss your constant

checking of the weather,

or your work boots scattering

dirt across the hardwood floors.

I do not miss your heavy

morning sighs.

This is what I like about morning:

What I don't yet know

about the day.

I am content drinking coffee,

not yet knowing if the grey sky

will open, not yet knowing

what I will miss about you

when I walk out the door.