Monday night flight (video, photograph, poem).

Sometimes my life is hip(ster)/I love you Heather/I’ll (we’ll) miss you Heather

And off we go to the east…

 

August 1, 2011

 

We eat cheese we drink

rosé, eat salad (eat olives),

finish off some soup, sort

through plums & nectarines,

flip the laundry, pack jars

for presents and the house

is hot as fired bread. There’s

a pile of my paper booklets

standing in an fruitcrate

on the shelf and everyone

will get one. And anyone

who wants will know I’m

home. And friends we farm

or farmed with might miss

our little yard. I’ve packed

my new red shoes and we’ll

eat peaches on the plane.

The neighbor with the high

white socks will grumble

at our incorrectly-plated car,

the banana plant will grow

another, stronger leaf and

the chickens left last night.

The house is vacuumed,

mopped, and marveled at;

we’ll be flying through the night.

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