A marriage poem for abundance (mine).

Abundance

for Scott & Josh

 

There will be days of singing & days of silent throats

There will be days of bouquets & days of empty vases

There will be days of thirst & nights of drinking

There will be raspberry days & days of stale crusts of bread

There will be days of nails in the wall & artless days

There will be harvest days & long nights of winter

There will days to gather & days to await the gathering

May the thin days make the days of fullness all the sweeter

May your fruits be many and your backs be strong

as you launch together

into your days

of abundance

 

July 5, 2014

 

scott and josh first step

(photo of the couple’s first steps toward marriage by Misha M. Johnson)

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Why not: a birthday collage.

Dear Scott,

I made you this internet collage comprised of (beautiful) images that remind me of you. I really hope you like it.

Love,

Taylor

 

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coffee and whiskey

 

 

 

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Happiest of days to you, friend. I hope your weekend is full of even better things than Ellie giving the sneaky middle finger to you in a photo, though it’s hard to imagine what’s better than that.

 

A poem of farewell (mine).

 

Misha’s off to work in a shirt that’s too big

on him but he loves its colors. I bake the bread

 

when he leaves, mist it and cover it, cooling.

On my bike around town my clothes don’t

 

get caught in the pedals. At the café I edit

my poem, the one that’s now eight pages,

 

I drink my favorite coffee. The man to my left

says to his friend, “We’re here to share stories

 

and energy.” His beard is braided. I ride my bike

to the store, I see Christina who makes earrings

 

out of old records, John from Self-Heal, and Jeff

from the fruit stand is my cashier. I treat myself

 

to sushi at the high chair that overlooks the street

and see the Suzie’s truck roll past, the one I rode in

 

yesterday. I’ve lived here three years and the food

I eat is delicious and so much of it I’ve planted

 

with my own short thumbs. I’ve lived here three

years and I get across town on my feet, I’ve made

 

human mistakes and baked foods in summer, heat

overtaking the kitchen, the kitchen that leads

 

to the porch where tools are hung or lean, the porch

that steps out to the yard where we grilled and drank

 

and read our books, the yard we bought a table

and umbrella for, the yard where poems woke

 

the neighborhood, where sunburns sang and worms

were fed on foodscraps. Friends visited and friends

 

stopped by and friends brought food and friends

bought books or art and used up all the toilet

 

paper. We met them and we said come in and now

the nights are warm enough to let us go out

 

into them, the nights we hope will lead us

heavenward into a land we’ll plant ourselves.

 

 

 

 

A baby’s shoe! A baby bunny! A tiny artichoke!

 

Not last Sunday but the Sunday before, this tiny Converse sneaker appeared on the ground just outside our market stall. Look at this! A tiny shoe! I yelled. Don’t you think it’s a hint from the universe that you should have a baby? someone asked. No! I said. It’s a hint from the universe that the more I love small, the more small that arrives! 

 

 

My really cool crew wears Converse (Owen in grey, Sara in purple) and I wear Blundstone boots with my pants cuffed because I’m short.

*

The only thing better than a tiny sneaker is a tiny creature, and here below is Little Debbie, or Little Deborah (or Debra, if you like Beck [I like Beck]). She was found at the farm on a Thursday, looking terrified and alone. She’s currently being cared for and will be let back into the wild when she’s a little bigger. But for now she’s so small she looks like a squirrel.

 

 

Here she is in her little box:

 

 

And here’s a small artichoke going bad, plus my feet and Misha’s.

 

 

 

The End.

 

Things that are small: farmers’ market edition (photo series) (mine).

Hello and welcome to the 2nd installation of Things that are small, where I’ll show you a fruit lineup, featuring the smallest of doughnut peaches. Doughnut peaches are like regular peaches that got sat on by very small butts. Perhaps squirrel butts? That’s funny to think of.

All fruits pictured are from Sweet Tree Farms, one of my farm bffs. Annie is their farmer (remember when I wrote about her boobs in a poem?) and yesterday was her birthday. In honor of it we all sang terribly and ate carrot cake. But nevermind carrots! Today is about tiny peaches!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sideyard success. Serious joy.

The sideyard was so much fun. I was this happy:

Except I was wearing a blue crown with curled ribbons longer than my hair, a patterned poncho, and wings made out of leaves (made by Jen), and not a clown costume. As Frankie puts it,

best thing about the sideyard poetry readings:

the folks walking past on the other side of the hedge

on their way to friday-night-party

catching clips of outloud poetry

and the quick image of

a writer in the light

as they pass

What was also wonderful was how many people there were (estimates are in the high 90s), and the flower bouquets with artichokes in them (made by Ellie of course):

and how everyone got so drunk that no one bought books like these:

and perhaps the greatest miracle of the whole event is that not a single neighbor yelled at us. And people bought Misha’s photographs! And I didn’t even have a hangover the next morning! And the next morning was Saturday, and Ellie and I split a mushroom and bacon fritatta covered with blue cheese with whole wheat toast and raspberry jam. The end.

Pisces come from under water (photo series).

 

A month ago, there was a birthday party. The theme was “under the sea” and I was a jellyfish and Ellie made me a crown.

 

 

There are streamers curled and dangling from my tutu but you can’t really see them. Misha’s hair was huge and awesome and we danced to the band for hours. Everyone sang happy birthday to me, Lauren, and Sara, my other Pisces of the party, and we all birthday-hugged each other while they sang.

 

 

And then the singing was over and we all went back to drinking. And dancing.

 

 

What a night!

 

(Thanks to Colleen Dawson for taking these photos. They’re wonderful!)