Chaco, Chicory and Cholla

I didn't know poetry
Until the cholla pricked me
And the ruin dusts blew
In and out of crumbling windows.

I sipped and hoped for chicory
Until the desert roared and cried
And ground mouth opened wide
Frogs went dancing in the tears.

The thought had crossed my mind
To jump in the arroyo
And ride the water like a boat
To north south east and west.

The Little Mouse and The Big Cheese: A Fable of Sorts

 

    One day while on an adventure a little mouse came across a giant piece of cheese.  Not wanting to tell anyone back home, he ate from the heavy block and went back without saying a word to anyone.

     Over the next few days, the mice back home began to notice that the little mouse’s belly was getting bigger and asked where he had been finding such food. The selfish mouse didn't make a squeak.

     One night, the mouse went to visit the giant piece of cheese but saw that its rind was green and fuzzy and the rest was cracked and dry and smelly. Now nobody could eat from the giant cheese.

The moral of the story: selfishness spoils everything.

The First Harvest: A Folk Tale of Sorts

     Once upon a time there lived an old woman who lived in a place in which nothing would grow. Her name was Ms. Blackthumb. Year by year she tilled the soil and sewed many seeds into the earth--yet not one of them ever grew to see the light. Even household plants lay dormant underneath the dark dirt.

     Every morning she gazed out of her kitchen window at the house next door. It was a spectacular sight; vines decorating archways and benches that bordered a lush and thriving fruit and vegetable garden. Bees buzzed in and out of the neighbor's flowers but flew right past Ms. Blackthumb's property. As a final act of perseverance the woman planted a single tomato seed into a pot and set it on her kitchen window sill, in hopes that it may one day understand her yearning. 
     Seven days after she carefully patted the last bit of soil over the seed, a little green man emerged from the middle of the pot as she administered its daily watering. Without pause, he began to speak:

     "I see your frown, Ms. Blackthumb, you wish your land to overflow with beauty!" he smiled. Taken aback, though intrigued, Ms. Blackthumb spoke in return,

     "Ah, yes, little man, for many years I have dreamt that my plot of earth would grow as fruitfully as the others. Nothing I touch will sprout. If this plant does not grow, I shall never attempt again such a challenging task."

     "I have the perfect fix for you my sweet lady, but you must agree to it," her eyes widened, "I can make this entire garden grow higher than the tallest stalk of corn next door, but in exchange you must sew the seeds and take care of me here until I am big enough to help you harvest your crops."

     For three months, the woman tended to the little man. Each day he grew a bit larger and each day the garden sprouted up one more inch. Finally the day came when the tomatoes were of the brightest red and there was a buzzing bee for every flower. The little man was no longer little, but in fact taller than the old woman. And what an eager spirit he contained! As soon as he saw the colorful bounty he rushed outside with the largest basket he could find, picking only the best of the harvest. Without saying a word to the old woman, he then skipped happily away as the juice of the ripest peach slid down his green neck.  

     The woman went to look at the garden and only found only the worst of the crops. There were rotten tomatoes and bug-eaten basil plants, crushed melons and wilted flowers. All was in disarray. But Ms. Blackthumb grabbed her second-best basket, gathered up what was left of her garden, and made the tastiest dinner she's ever made--dreaming all the while of the garden she once grew.

A View from the Balcony

Shoes strung together

tied into trees that twist and twine,

green and golden, meant to mix.

Breath is of eight pairs,

water of two to stay stable,

and passion fizzes wildly.

Essence spread outward

Past the bars of my veranda,
waiting on a star crossed love.

Crumbling Creek

I found my love in the crumbling creek
glowing like the sun
pieces scattered under toe
and found by everyone

Oh, my oh my Old Hannah
She said ain't you tired of rolling
Yellow seeps from hills
as ink bleeds from the quill
She writes oh, ain't you tired of rolling

I'd give up my kiss for happiness
I'd pan for all my sins
and melt the pieces down
so I can wear them on my skin

Oh, my oh my Old Hannah
She said ain't you tired of rolling
Yellow seeps from hills
as ink bleeds from the quill
She writes oh, aint you tired of rolling

Scissors and String

the small hole in my belly
the fates created when
they cut the cord when I was born
and once more to bring me death

The Old Barn

Walk up to the old barn

where the floors smell like memories

of hard working days

and when your brother was married

we snap pictures on ladders and hear ourselves echo

a collection of voices started decades ago

there are nails in the beamboards and the pails in the closets

and brown colored time on the necks of the locks

and you take my mind back to 1904

when the nails held our lanterns

locks needn't guard doors

two kids with our features

deal dusty old cards

their grandfather left them

before he entered the war

we break down the walls when we hoot like barn owls

and the wind and the cold sings along but it howls

so we dangle our legs in an old writer's coffin

and listen as ghosts all around us start talking

and you take my heart back to 1860

when the plow and the planter

were worth everything