here we are in a dangerous neighborhood holding blueberry pie

the police shot a young man last night,
high on bad LSD, slashing his neighbors with a knife.
horrors.
he was a math wizard and a nice guy,
his friends said, and a rookie cop, inexperienced
and scared, shot him to death.
a tragedy.
really.
so i stand on the front porch with  my neighbor, holding
a most spectacular several pieces of homemade
blueberry pie and discuss the situation.
this is not a dangerous neighborhood.
the people next door have a daughter named Bella,
the same name as our dog
and the neighbor across the street teaches GIS.
the college kids rock out on Thursday nights
since it seems they have no responsibilities on
Fridays.
Somewhere that must have changed since I
was in college.
I wandered home in the dark
holding my pie.
I locked the doors and ate my pie.
it was delicous.

Hiking with Karen

it was so beautiful that the switchbacks pulled

us up the hill.

she told me that she felt unappreciated because

Daniel was getting more attention in his work

than her

we can understand drones flying the sky

so uncertain about Python code and big equations,

words we don't understand and have to act as

if we did,

so she then pulled me up the hill as I was flagging

and the sun was hot

we stopped for fresh blueberry pie

i ate both pieces, she ate almonds

so healthy

i needed the encouragement.

finally

we stumbled down the hill to lunch

she promised she'd explain her work so

i could say more than that she is simply

super smart, funny and beautiful and she

can out-hike me any day regardless of

the altitude.

 

Day 2: Jenny's mini CSA

more bountiful

more beautiful

bounty with beauty

better and better

maybe tomorrow will

be the best of three

days.

Jenny's Micro CSA (Community Share Agriculture)

Mine is beautiful,

not bountiful.

a single tomatillo wrapped snugly in 

its golden wrapper,

long thin perfect green beans,

sweet and crunchy.

beauty lifts our hearts

bountiful may fill our stomachs

in this case, I vote for

beauty. 

French Fried

I forget, I never knew, shucks, oh well
une façon, une maniéré, but un paragraphe
so it should be un beau paragraphe, n'est-ce pas
we have covered this before,
tu ne te souviens plus de ce dont on a parle la dernière fois
apparemment non.
you are speaking at a high enough level
that this should be second nature.
elle me gronde; je comprends pourquoi
mais c'est tellement difficile d'apprendre
une deuxième langue.
Je souffre et je me réjouis en même
temps, c'est comme ça.

It's not fireworks - flying a Solo drone

everyone's arms are folded except her's.

she's driving what we're looking at

way up in the sky -

amazement at tiny but bright

red and blue lights, we hear a hum of 

phantom wings

i'd never seen such a thing

from which we can see as if we had our

own wings

what a lovely thought.

Solo on wings, you will come back 

to me on command, your hum will 

fill the air, you're beautiful.

Forgetting

forgetting is perhaps worse
than writer's block.
to not even remember to write
instead of not knowing what to write
is that the same as not knowing what to say.
yesterday i stumbled upon some test results
after i fell on my head
they said i'm not good at routine work
and am neutral with guiding people,
only if it suits me.
i didn't know what to say when they
told me how my IQ had dropped so
many points, not to worry, they said
except now i am even forgetting to
write, isn't that a sign.

Rest Day

I'm taking a rest day from writing.
Really, and it's not Saturday either.
My creative juices are spilling on the floor,
a stain is spreading across the non-existent carpet.
The dog is flopped onto the wood floor,
it's cool in this heat.
I'm too hot to write, the braid is falling out my hair.
my socks are dirty and there's a wine stain on my T-shirt.
I'm not writing today, I need a rest,
really.

A better view

 this is the view we like.

a backdrop of mountains, my arm around my friend.

there's a pear-ginger alcoholic concoction on the table

I will never remember the name, but never forget the taste.

the sun will set soon.

tear down the cranes and brick walls,

knock down the multi-million dollar houses

hogging acre lots.

Two people don't need so much real estate.

build 20 small houses instead for the workers.

build gardens and trails.

those things will make us smile.

Sometimes it's Monday

we waited for him to call on our line
he waited for us on another line
we missed each other
it was a Monday, my Monday,
my fault that a President and a Director
waited in vain because I forgot.
I felt bad on Monday so we'll
try again Tuesday.
tomorrow I'll be sharp as a tack,
ready to run circles around everyone.
Tuesday will be terrific
and Wednesday will be wonderful.
Only Monday was moronic,
I'll roll through Thursday
and Friday will be fantastic.

The New View

We can only barely see the foothills

behind the skyscrapers and cranes,

the glint off metal fenders blinds us.

we moved here to see the hills, to smell

the wildflowers and to squish the mud

between our toes, to open our mouths

to the falling rain and gaze 

awestruck

at rainbows that bridge the plains

to the mountains.

I glimpse the hillside past the crane

and the parked cars.

Soon we will no longer see 

such softness, it will be hidden behind

a brick wall.  

Picking up as he packs up

I'll miss him,
really,
his gentle smile, his hugs, his goofy puppy ways
(even though he's a grown man)
I'll take a reprieve from clutter, just a short one
since I can't sustain it even on my own,
as mail, dirty dishes, clothes, books, etc
all pile up even in his absence.
I can try, though, for 8 days to control it,
corraling and culling the ugly and sick.
he won't notice the missing black chair that
no one sits in.
he will.
but he has sort of approved of the disappearance.
I wonder what else I can disappear without
him noticing.
I'll find out and keep you
posted.

The drumbeat of commitment, the power of numbers

we will walk out our doors marching

to a single tune of solidarity and community.

we hear the drumbeat in our ears as we knock on doors,

an endless line of them of all colors,

all types of people will answer.

young and old, white and black, 

welcoming and suspicious.

we will keep going, our pens dangling

from clipboards.

sometimes our shoes are wet

and it is getting dark,

our dinner is getting cold.

we are tired

but we still hear the drumbeat of commitment.

we will overcome, yes, we will.

The neighborhood meeting

some of us were there,
the ones who bother to attend will make the
decisions; this is how democracy works.
show up and vote.
a flashing light pedestrian walk at 20th,
we'll keep the light at 22nd for now.
yep, the neighborhood will stand with others
who are trying to make their corner a better place.
Sorry, your howling puppy doesn't deserve our support.
We understand it's tough, but I personally would
be annoyed as well.
no, we don't agree with that big development
at 14th and we're worried about the historic trees
being removed at 17th, maybe we can express
our concern even if we have no legal leg to stand
on.
we'll stand on the corner eating more pizza that
the owner brought by tonight.
it sure was good.
sorry you missed it.

dignity

she will look intently,

her ears perked, high interest

but no movement, her paws placed

directly under her shoulders, even 

the grasses dare not bend in the breeze.

she is queen of the grasslands, regarding

her kingdom with dignity and grace.

were we so watchful with our own, so

attentive to every small mammal

and every grass, we would be

in the present, enjoying its beauty

instead of rushing from one thing

to the next.

Fun with Bobby Pins

forget spacecraft and space debris,

Matlab code and process documentations,

validations and engineering reports,

forget equations and difficult people,

bobby pins are so much more flexible

and make beautiful things.

I have learned this on YouTube.  

no need for a brilliant mind or a

knack for communication, no need for

high heels or nice clothes, a power

stance or a powerful position.

a twist around a finger or two, 

a bobby pin is all you need for 

beautiful hairstyle in 5 minutes

or less.  

Middle Age Hair-do's

ponytails on middle-aged women don't work,

she said,

the expert on hair, she's wearing a short haired cut for young women.

I am not so young.

I watch videos on using bobby pins, 

my teachers are blonde and young,

their fingers flexible, their hair does not crease,

there are no strands of grey.

No matter, I say, 

I will wear blouses instead of t-shirts,

my pants will hug (not too tight) my still slender physique.

I will wear my age more gracefully.

why not, my freckles have aged well,

my smile still brightens many a day,

I can learn this skill just as I learn

Matlab code, a new articulation or the gender of 

another noun in French.

Add this to my list of new skills,

using a bobby pin, beauty

in a hair style. 

making new friends

shara and mary
johanna and darlene
shelly and me.
sharing and marveling
jelling and daring
shezang and marvelous.
women weaving wonders
wine whiskey and water
lightning fills the skies outside
thunder rolls over our words
we stare out in amazement.

Long time friends

41 years.

not our current ages, but how many years since

we met.

on a beach

in Oregon.

we've aged, but it's amazing how the heart stays the same.

and so we meet again

with a backdrop of flowers and shrubs,

scented roses and bamboo forests.

what could be finer

there is nothing finer than

dear friends.

In Boulder, I often feel hungry

while strolling the back alleys of Quebec
she confided, "I often feel hungry in Boulder"
and looked at me to see if I understood.
she seemed anxious, and somewhat hungry
so we headed towards a patisserie in the Chinese
part of town and she ate a glutinous rice ball,
it stuck to her teeth and I marveled at the threads
of glutinous white stuff stretching from the ball
to her mouth as she devoured it.
I understood this,
the pleasure of eating, the sating of an appetite.
I didn't understand exactly why she was often
hungry in Boulder, perhaps just a warning
that when she arrived, I should always plan to
carry a treat or two for her as well as for Bella,
a handful of fresh cherries, a bar of dark chocolate
to carry her through until we can find something
more substantial.
I should always carry my wallet.
I can do these things.

El viaje de su vida

in reaching for a poetry book
i found a Spanish reader, una
novela breve y facil totalemente en
espanol. it is warped from a rain I
do not remember.
did I rescue it from flood waters,
or was it next to a leaking water bottle
in my pack?
when did I read it last
long ago as I don't remember the word
"vieje", which means trip in english.
yes, I am ready for another vieje
even having just returned home,
I want to see new, let me see with new
eyes what is old, in a new language.
I will open my eyes.

A Bonsai Forest in a world of Assumptions

I walk in my forest with my white friends,

we all talk the same talk, we walk the same walk,

we all live with white people in white houses

we do white jobs, we live the white life.

the blue sky overhead.

we only know the white life.

I walk in the courtyard with my black dog 

and meet a black man.  

his friends are white friends, his neighbors are black neighbors.

he says they are my people, but they are not my friends.

he talks with a different accent than my white friends,

he's a mean cook,

he sings,

he is not a white man, but he is not what I expected

because my eyes were only white eyes.

I see that my forest was a tiny forest in a bonsai garden

I need to see the rest of the world.

Lead me there.

No Poutine after all

Poutine

A Canadian specialty

we talked about it

but never ventured any further,

already bloated with cakes, croisssant and wine.

maybe next time,

cheese curds slathered over French fries,

bathed in beef gravy

Sounds delicious

for a 

Canadian.

Euthanasia

she keeps bringing it up as an appropriate topic,
not recognizing that she's talking to an "older person"
losing my mind, slightly sagging in places, eyes getting
a bit watery.
she brings up my hair style, my choice of dress,
my lack of style, my need to dress as an "older person",
and then that favorite topic of hers, euthanasia.
she hasn't gotten too far into the details but perhaps
she is developing her ideas on this for the "older people".
I'm sure I'll hear about it and we'll laugh,
perhaps uneasily, I'll look behind myself
and see a young person standing there
it's me.

The Beauty of Wisdom

We're not girls anymore,

close up, there are wrinkles around 

our eyes, age spots on our hands,

some of them may pass for freckles 

on our cheeks.

Smiles are ageless and if you look into

our eyes, you will see a sparkle.

you will see lives well lived,

lessons learned, loves come and gone,

no need for youth, there is wisdom

and beauty in our lives,

celebrate.