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.
panache, perhaps 