has changed her ring tone to "jump on it" which, compared to the sound of her bratty child screaming PICK UP THE PHONE MOMMY or a particularly brain numbing bollywood theme song, is down right enjoyable. Vanessa and i celebrate by getting up from our cubes and doing the jump on it dance every time the ring tone sounds. and then, without a word, we sit back down and keep working.
this place has great comedic timing.
5.28.2009
kickass cupcakes on npr!
the bakery that, shall we say, "catered" my bday party thanks to J's brilliance and spot-on instincts about my preferences, was featured on NPR today. or at least, the owner was, and most awkwardly, the name of the bakery was never mentioned. apparently kick-ass is a naughty word on the radio.
not only is the owner beautiful and a damn good baker, shes an inspiration in terms of working and studying various angles of her business until she knew she could be her own boss and then going out and DOING it and doing it with what my mom would call 'whimsy'... i mean stout and chocolate cupcakes? lemon ginger with snarky fortune's imbedded in the frosting? cinnamon bun? fantastic! so much joy in every bite!
AND now that i know who she is, im 90 percent sure she's the person who delivered the tower (literally) of cupcakes in the kickassmobile to my house personally on a saturday. talk about hard work.
i want to be her.
i also want to eat every cupcake in the background
every
one... yeeesss
you put your misanthropy in/and you shake it all about...
A celebration of lasting achievment
The man who wrote "The Hokey Pokey" died.
Morning puts its left foot in, trees and wind
shaking it all about. I remember
how big the bus seemed, like it had swallowed
all the yellow crayons. I flunked taking a nap.
A dance that taught us, these are the hinges,
use them. Once you know left from right,
you can get anywhere. It occurs to me
there's got to be a porn version
of "'The Hokey Pokey," but I'll have milk
and cookies, I'll be innocent today.
That he knew turning ourselves around
is what it's all about, elevates him
to the top of the songwriter/choreographer/
philosopher list. The joke about him
and the grave: he put his right leg in,
he pulled his right leg out. Funny.
Simple is hard to do, I bet
it was the highlight of his life,
realizing we want to join the circle
but can't. There's a version
of "'The Hokey Pokey" done around a fire.
You put your alcoholism in, you pull
the time you broke your wife's eye socket
out, you put your misanthropy in,
and you shake it all about.
This is what was once known as a "downer,"
kids. Really, I love joy, spinning,
spinning joy. Thank you, Larry LaPrise.
We'll forget you but not your song,
or we'll forget your song but not
that our left shoe is not our right shoe,
though where they are at any point in time,
and are they together, is alienation
inevitable, who knows.
by bob hicok
The man who wrote "The Hokey Pokey" died.
Morning puts its left foot in, trees and wind
shaking it all about. I remember
how big the bus seemed, like it had swallowed
all the yellow crayons. I flunked taking a nap.
A dance that taught us, these are the hinges,
use them. Once you know left from right,
you can get anywhere. It occurs to me
there's got to be a porn version
of "'The Hokey Pokey," but I'll have milk
and cookies, I'll be innocent today.
That he knew turning ourselves around
is what it's all about, elevates him
to the top of the songwriter/choreographer/
philosopher list. The joke about him
and the grave: he put his right leg in,
he pulled his right leg out. Funny.
Simple is hard to do, I bet
it was the highlight of his life,
realizing we want to join the circle
but can't. There's a version
of "'The Hokey Pokey" done around a fire.
You put your alcoholism in, you pull
the time you broke your wife's eye socket
out, you put your misanthropy in,
and you shake it all about.
This is what was once known as a "downer,"
kids. Really, I love joy, spinning,
spinning joy. Thank you, Larry LaPrise.
We'll forget you but not your song,
or we'll forget your song but not
that our left shoe is not our right shoe,
though where they are at any point in time,
and are they together, is alienation
inevitable, who knows.
by bob hicok
5.21.2009
"this too shall pass"
is a phrase from a Jewish folktale, in hebrew it's pronounced "gam zeh yaavor" and i remember my grandmother muttering it to me when i got worked up as a child.
The story is basically that Solomon assigned his advisor an impossible task: to find an object that would make a happy man sad and a sad man happy. he came back with a ring with those words engraved on it.
since i read the story the phrase has been turning in my head and it feels good. it takes pressure off and puts pressure right back on and somehow, whatever the weight is that remains, sits well on me. i say this to myself and i feel grounded but unburdened.
for a while now ive been trying to decide on a tatoo. this is it.
it will go somewhere on my hand.
this fall i found an old book on palm reading and i cant tell you how beautiful it is, even if you dont believe in the practice its incredible to learn how diverse they can be and how ancient the tradition is of studying those diversities.
hands are the first things i study when getting to know someone.
my hands are my memo pads, where i write anything i dont want to forget.
the statement is a reminder
a warning
a blessing
a curse
it is the truth
i'm at my best in the moments when i'm most connected to this idea
when i deny, ignore or forget it, i lose myself, my perspective, my balance
thrilled. i am thrilled.
The story is basically that Solomon assigned his advisor an impossible task: to find an object that would make a happy man sad and a sad man happy. he came back with a ring with those words engraved on it.
since i read the story the phrase has been turning in my head and it feels good. it takes pressure off and puts pressure right back on and somehow, whatever the weight is that remains, sits well on me. i say this to myself and i feel grounded but unburdened.
for a while now ive been trying to decide on a tatoo. this is it.
it will go somewhere on my hand.
this fall i found an old book on palm reading and i cant tell you how beautiful it is, even if you dont believe in the practice its incredible to learn how diverse they can be and how ancient the tradition is of studying those diversities.
hands are the first things i study when getting to know someone.
my hands are my memo pads, where i write anything i dont want to forget.
the statement is a reminder
a warning
a blessing
a curse
it is the truth
i'm at my best in the moments when i'm most connected to this idea
when i deny, ignore or forget it, i lose myself, my perspective, my balance
thrilled. i am thrilled.
dialogue around the cubes this morning
the girls (thekla, the oblivious but sassy greek, ellen, the blondest brunette in the history of hairdye, and vanessa, the sarcastic but goofy ital-american princess) were discuss how a friend of vanessas bought his girlfriend a ring for her birthday and theyve been dating for two years and "thats a recipe for disaster" and he has to return the gift asap.
daisy - swhat? no! she's just going to expect it to be an engagement ring? thats crazy! dont women have better thigns to do than wait around for a rock?
ellen- are you kidding? starting at about the 16th month of my relationship with mike i was getting fuscia manicures every week.
daisy- ...that is ridiculous. and why in the world fuscia of all colors?
ellen - it goes the best with platinum and diamonds, of course. god daisy you do have a lot to learn.
daisy- clearly. if you havent noticed i really dont DO nails. period.
thekla- we notice.
daisy- hey!
vanessa - no its cute! you shoudlnt have to have your nails done if you dont want to. i just dont know how you live without nails. what if you want to scratch your back?
daisy- i rub against a tree. also these days there are other more important things i dont want to scratch.
ellen- you can wear gloves for that problem.
daisy- ....ellen what exactly are YOU referring to?
ellen- oh when i was little i used to scratch my face in the night. isnt that what you were saying?
vanessa- thats not what she was saying ellen.
thekla- i dont get it.
daisy- im sleeping with a woman.
thekla- (pause) OH! didnt think of that.
ellen- i still dont get it.
(we all went back to work)
ellen- guuuuys!
daisy - swhat? no! she's just going to expect it to be an engagement ring? thats crazy! dont women have better thigns to do than wait around for a rock?
ellen- are you kidding? starting at about the 16th month of my relationship with mike i was getting fuscia manicures every week.
daisy- ...that is ridiculous. and why in the world fuscia of all colors?
ellen - it goes the best with platinum and diamonds, of course. god daisy you do have a lot to learn.
daisy- clearly. if you havent noticed i really dont DO nails. period.
thekla- we notice.
daisy- hey!
vanessa - no its cute! you shoudlnt have to have your nails done if you dont want to. i just dont know how you live without nails. what if you want to scratch your back?
daisy- i rub against a tree. also these days there are other more important things i dont want to scratch.
ellen- you can wear gloves for that problem.
daisy- ....ellen what exactly are YOU referring to?
ellen- oh when i was little i used to scratch my face in the night. isnt that what you were saying?
vanessa- thats not what she was saying ellen.
thekla- i dont get it.
daisy- im sleeping with a woman.
thekla- (pause) OH! didnt think of that.
ellen- i still dont get it.
(we all went back to work)
ellen- guuuuys!
5.20.2009
huh
Galactic Center of Milky Way Rises over Texas Star Party from William Castleman on Vimeo.
dad sent this to me
i wrote back and said it looked a bit like the spine of god in a hammock of sky
he said
huh
5.18.2009
a days worth of office correspondance between v and d
AV (9:10:50 AM): weird, ellen and thekla both on aim but not here
daisy (9:10:56 AM): very wierd.
AV (9:11:01 AM): think they aren't coming in
daisy (9:11:29 AM): is that a question or a statement?
AV (9:11:47 AM): it was a question
daisy (9:11:51 AM): oh well i dont know if theyre coming in but they arent here
daisy (9:12:00 AM): so why are we im-ing
daisy (9:12:05 AM): theres no one here
AV (9:12:05 AM): very good point
daisy (4:57:18 PM): ok so i jsut got this email from a friend of mine from dartmouth who has been playing a few 1-line extra parts on soap operas lately (hes a pretty serious actor but you do what you gotta do) and hes also a HUGE gay goofball so this is what he just wrote to me about the episode he just filmed where he played an EMT taking bodies out of a sorority house after an accident that made my lauuuugh: " I filmed that scene first (so didn't know about the context),
and the stage direction said that I bring Tea (the head trauma chick) on a
guerney. But the stage directions were in all-caps, so I thought that i was
bringing in tea on a guerney! I seriously honestly did. ESU#1 BRINGS IN TEA
ON A GUERNEY! cleaaarly that's my assumption. I pictured myself with a cute
guerney-long array of little cups & kettles... I was like, um, where's this
show going???? "
AV (5:00:24 PM): we should dvr it
daisy (5:00:27 PM): its episode number 1928472957
daisy (5:00:29 PM): or something
AV (5:00:49 PM): and the mother of TEA is on her 67569 marriage
daisy (5:00:56 PM): has died come back to life
AV (5:01:08 PM): had kids and the next year they are 18
daisy (5:01:12 PM): had amnesia twice and just met her long lost identical quadruplet
AV (5:01:12 PM): but the mother hasn't aged
daisy(5:01:32 PM): we should write for soaps. screw this press release shit
AV (5:01:32 PM): I like the one passions
AV (5:01:40 PM): it has witches and stuff
AV (5:01:52 PM): and I think they have a sheman
AV (5:01:56 PM): 'shim' perhaps
daisy(5:02:15 PM): i dont think thats the technical term
AV (5:02:26 PM): it is in my world dooze
daisy(5:03:12 PM): i have something in my eye and its bugging the shit out of me
AV (5:03:47 PM): pink eye
daisy (5:04:01 PM): yes thats right i have pink eye in my eye.
AV (5:04:59 PM): makes perfect sense
daisy (5:07:38 PM): hah that man two cubes over just said 'shirley shwang!'
AV (5:07:46 PM): wait
AV (5:07:52 PM): what
daisy(5:08:06 PM): that was ridiculous you just said:
daisy(5:08:08 PM): wait
daisy(5:08:09 PM): pause
daisy (5:08:10 PM): what
AV (5:08:19 PM): brain stopped
AV (5:08:25 PM): I'm old
AV (5:08:28 PM): mental fart
AV (5:08:31 PM): it happens
daisy (5:08:43 PM): you are, youre all of two and six eons old.
daisy (5:08:46 PM): eons? ions?
daisy (5:08:52 PM): aeons?
AV (5:09:15 PM): aeon
AV (5:09:19 PM): or eon
AV (5:09:25 PM): ion is something in matter
AV (5:09:41 PM): it's an atom or molecule
AV (5:09:48 PM): I was a scientist in my earlier life
daisy (5:09:53 PM): calearly
AV (5:10:16 PM): REAAAALLLLLYYYYY
daisy (5:10:23 PM): yes REAAALLLLLLLLY
AV (5:11:50 PM): I am peacing right at 5:30
AV (5:11:53 PM): I don't care
daisy (5:13:21 PM): good for you, as you should. 1. its your fucking birthday 2. because i say so. 3. thats when normal people leave their godforsaken offices
AV (5:13:41 PM): yes and I am walking home today
AV (5:13:47 PM): and eating more cake
AV (5:13:50 PM): and crap
AV (5:14:03 PM): any then rubbing my big fat belly in front of the tv
AV (5:14:06 PM): mmmmmmm
daisy (5:14:25 PM): niiiice. ill be doing the same and its not even my birthday.
AV (5:14:42 PM): you and your cat
daisy(5:15:54 PM): yes. if my cat wore pants shed totally stick a hand in like al bundy.
AV (5:15:54 PM): some days i wish i were a cat.
daisy (9:10:56 AM): very wierd.
AV (9:11:01 AM): think they aren't coming in
daisy (9:11:29 AM): is that a question or a statement?
AV (9:11:47 AM): it was a question
daisy (9:11:51 AM): oh well i dont know if theyre coming in but they arent here
daisy (9:12:00 AM): so why are we im-ing
daisy (9:12:05 AM): theres no one here
AV (9:12:05 AM): very good point
daisy (4:57:18 PM): ok so i jsut got this email from a friend of mine from dartmouth who has been playing a few 1-line extra parts on soap operas lately (hes a pretty serious actor but you do what you gotta do) and hes also a HUGE gay goofball so this is what he just wrote to me about the episode he just filmed where he played an EMT taking bodies out of a sorority house after an accident that made my lauuuugh: " I filmed that scene first (so didn't know about the context),
and the stage direction said that I bring Tea (the head trauma chick) on a
guerney. But the stage directions were in all-caps, so I thought that i was
bringing in tea on a guerney! I seriously honestly did. ESU#1 BRINGS IN TEA
ON A GUERNEY! cleaaarly that's my assumption. I pictured myself with a cute
guerney-long array of little cups & kettles... I was like, um, where's this
show going???? "
AV (5:00:24 PM): we should dvr it
daisy (5:00:27 PM): its episode number 1928472957
daisy (5:00:29 PM): or something
AV (5:00:49 PM): and the mother of TEA is on her 67569 marriage
daisy (5:00:56 PM): has died come back to life
AV (5:01:08 PM): had kids and the next year they are 18
daisy (5:01:12 PM): had amnesia twice and just met her long lost identical quadruplet
AV (5:01:12 PM): but the mother hasn't aged
daisy(5:01:32 PM): we should write for soaps. screw this press release shit
AV (5:01:32 PM): I like the one passions
AV (5:01:40 PM): it has witches and stuff
AV (5:01:52 PM): and I think they have a sheman
AV (5:01:56 PM): 'shim' perhaps
daisy(5:02:15 PM): i dont think thats the technical term
AV (5:02:26 PM): it is in my world dooze
daisy(5:03:12 PM): i have something in my eye and its bugging the shit out of me
AV (5:03:47 PM): pink eye
daisy (5:04:01 PM): yes thats right i have pink eye in my eye.
AV (5:04:59 PM): makes perfect sense
daisy (5:07:38 PM): hah that man two cubes over just said 'shirley shwang!'
AV (5:07:46 PM): wait
AV (5:07:52 PM): what
daisy(5:08:06 PM): that was ridiculous you just said:
daisy(5:08:08 PM): wait
daisy(5:08:09 PM): pause
daisy (5:08:10 PM): what
AV (5:08:19 PM): brain stopped
AV (5:08:25 PM): I'm old
AV (5:08:28 PM): mental fart
AV (5:08:31 PM): it happens
daisy (5:08:43 PM): you are, youre all of two and six eons old.
daisy (5:08:46 PM): eons? ions?
daisy (5:08:52 PM): aeons?
AV (5:09:15 PM): aeon
AV (5:09:19 PM): or eon
AV (5:09:25 PM): ion is something in matter
AV (5:09:41 PM): it's an atom or molecule
AV (5:09:48 PM): I was a scientist in my earlier life
daisy (5:09:53 PM): calearly
AV (5:10:16 PM): REAAAALLLLLYYYYY
daisy (5:10:23 PM): yes REAAALLLLLLLLY
AV (5:11:50 PM): I am peacing right at 5:30
AV (5:11:53 PM): I don't care
daisy (5:13:21 PM): good for you, as you should. 1. its your fucking birthday 2. because i say so. 3. thats when normal people leave their godforsaken offices
AV (5:13:41 PM): yes and I am walking home today
AV (5:13:47 PM): and eating more cake
AV (5:13:50 PM): and crap
AV (5:14:03 PM): any then rubbing my big fat belly in front of the tv
AV (5:14:06 PM): mmmmmmm
daisy (5:14:25 PM): niiiice. ill be doing the same and its not even my birthday.
AV (5:14:42 PM): you and your cat
daisy(5:15:54 PM): yes. if my cat wore pants shed totally stick a hand in like al bundy.
AV (5:15:54 PM): some days i wish i were a cat.
missed connections
i never would have clicked on this poem were it not for craigslist and its "missed connections" section that has fascinated me since i was introduced to it by a certain Maureen.
well im glad i was as this is a lovely simple story of a poem that you all should read. i appreciate the build up to the last four lines. especially now that im looking for lines of poetry to tattoo on my hand (yes, thats right, im doing it, the question is not whether or where but rather which line of poetry i want to be permanently placed where i tend to make all my notes, reminders, memos. im slowly whittling down options but i think the right line will stand out)
Missed Connections
—at the Santa Barbara Airport
Descending, in our forty-seat airplane,
I saw an older man had parked his car
At the edge of the runway. He waved
At us, so I waved, but we were too far
Apart to see each other, and he was not
Welcoming me anyway. Near the back
Of the plane, a woman, hair in a knot,
Clutching a tattered Vintage paperback,
Waved and smiled and hugged her seatmate.
"That's my husband," she said. "I haven't seen
Him in ten years. It's so great, it's so great."
She shook and wept; it was quite a scene—
A mystery—and I was hungry to know
Why a wife and husband had lived apart
For a decade. I wanted to ask, but no,
I decided to imagine the parts
They'd been playing: She was the Red Cross
Nurse who'd been kidnapped by militant
Rebels, then blindfolded and marched across
The border, but he'd remained diligent
For ten epic years, pressuring despots
And presidents, until the March dawn
When Australian tourists spotted
Her staggering across a Thai hotel lawn.
Starved and weak, she fell into their arms.
"I've been released," she said. "I've been released."
Traded for ammunition and small arms,
And treated for malnutrition and disease,
She was only now, six weeks after rescue,
Reuniting with her husband. She was first
Off the airplane—we all gave her the room—
And she, aching with a different thirst,
Burst through the security gates
And rushed into her husband's embrace.
Later, after they had gone, as I waited
For my bags, I saw a friendly face—
A young woman who'd just witnessed
What I'd witnessed. I wiped away tears.
"Ten years," I said. "I'd die from the stress."
"Oh, no," she said. "It wasn't ten years.
It was ten days." Jesus, I had misheard
The old woman and created glory
Out of the ordinary. Just one word,
Misplaced, turned a true and brief story
Into a myth. And, yes, it was lovely
To see how the long-in-love can stay
In love. But who truly gets that lonely
After only ten days away?
I thought I had witnessed an epic—
A Santa Barbara elderly Odyssey—
But it was something more simplistic.
It was a love story, small and silly,
And this is cruel, but here's my confession:
Depending on the weather or my mood,
I'll repeat the myth because it's more impressive
Than something as tender as the truth.
well im glad i was as this is a lovely simple story of a poem that you all should read. i appreciate the build up to the last four lines. especially now that im looking for lines of poetry to tattoo on my hand (yes, thats right, im doing it, the question is not whether or where but rather which line of poetry i want to be permanently placed where i tend to make all my notes, reminders, memos. im slowly whittling down options but i think the right line will stand out)
Missed Connections
—at the Santa Barbara Airport
Descending, in our forty-seat airplane,
I saw an older man had parked his car
At the edge of the runway. He waved
At us, so I waved, but we were too far
Apart to see each other, and he was not
Welcoming me anyway. Near the back
Of the plane, a woman, hair in a knot,
Clutching a tattered Vintage paperback,
Waved and smiled and hugged her seatmate.
"That's my husband," she said. "I haven't seen
Him in ten years. It's so great, it's so great."
She shook and wept; it was quite a scene—
A mystery—and I was hungry to know
Why a wife and husband had lived apart
For a decade. I wanted to ask, but no,
I decided to imagine the parts
They'd been playing: She was the Red Cross
Nurse who'd been kidnapped by militant
Rebels, then blindfolded and marched across
The border, but he'd remained diligent
For ten epic years, pressuring despots
And presidents, until the March dawn
When Australian tourists spotted
Her staggering across a Thai hotel lawn.
Starved and weak, she fell into their arms.
"I've been released," she said. "I've been released."
Traded for ammunition and small arms,
And treated for malnutrition and disease,
She was only now, six weeks after rescue,
Reuniting with her husband. She was first
Off the airplane—we all gave her the room—
And she, aching with a different thirst,
Burst through the security gates
And rushed into her husband's embrace.
Later, after they had gone, as I waited
For my bags, I saw a friendly face—
A young woman who'd just witnessed
What I'd witnessed. I wiped away tears.
"Ten years," I said. "I'd die from the stress."
"Oh, no," she said. "It wasn't ten years.
It was ten days." Jesus, I had misheard
The old woman and created glory
Out of the ordinary. Just one word,
Misplaced, turned a true and brief story
Into a myth. And, yes, it was lovely
To see how the long-in-love can stay
In love. But who truly gets that lonely
After only ten days away?
I thought I had witnessed an epic—
A Santa Barbara elderly Odyssey—
But it was something more simplistic.
It was a love story, small and silly,
And this is cruel, but here's my confession:
Depending on the weather or my mood,
I'll repeat the myth because it's more impressive
Than something as tender as the truth.
5.15.2009
im just going to start throwing peices of my IM convos up on this blog
they're mostly asinine but they make me laugh and keep me sane and i want to share them.
and give you hope about the corporate world. its not all drones and robots. or maybe ive just spent long enough here that i find things funny that are dronish and robotic. ah well.
so this happened while on a conference call with mostly out-of-office colleagues:
AV(12:13:49 PM): something smells fishy
AV (12:13:51 PM): literally
daisy (12:13:53 PM): yes
daisy (12:13:55 PM): ugh
daisy (12:14:01 PM): our neighbors are once again having fishass for lunch
daisy (12:14:05 PM): its getting stronger. the fish is sticking its ass in my face.
so then someone gets PR aggressive on the call with another person on the call. the girl did something wrong and her supervisor says, "lets not do that again, ok?" in a voice that could melt your face off your skull.
Note: PR-aggressive is two rungs down from passive aggressive. its like around the bend and to the left with a bonnet on aggressive.
daisy (2:07:30 PM): ooo testeee
AV (2:07:38 PM): daisy.
AV (2:07:42 PM): lets not do that again.
daisy (2:07:47 PM): hahahah
AV(2:07:52 PM): EVER
AV (2:07:57 PM): or I will kill you
AV (2:08:04 PM): im going to murder you. if you do that or anything like that again.
AV (2:08:07 PM): fed up with your shit.
daisy(2:08:16 PM): im going to staple an org chart to your forehead
AV (2:08:17 PM): HAhahha
daisy (2:08:26 PM): oh god i just laughed so hard silently i think i gave myself a hernia
and give you hope about the corporate world. its not all drones and robots. or maybe ive just spent long enough here that i find things funny that are dronish and robotic. ah well.
so this happened while on a conference call with mostly out-of-office colleagues:
AV(12:13:49 PM): something smells fishy
AV (12:13:51 PM): literally
daisy (12:13:53 PM): yes
daisy (12:13:55 PM): ugh
daisy (12:14:01 PM): our neighbors are once again having fishass for lunch
daisy (12:14:05 PM): its getting stronger. the fish is sticking its ass in my face.
so then someone gets PR aggressive on the call with another person on the call. the girl did something wrong and her supervisor says, "lets not do that again, ok?" in a voice that could melt your face off your skull.
Note: PR-aggressive is two rungs down from passive aggressive. its like around the bend and to the left with a bonnet on aggressive.
daisy (2:07:30 PM): ooo testeee
AV (2:07:38 PM): daisy.
AV (2:07:42 PM): lets not do that again.
daisy (2:07:47 PM): hahahah
AV(2:07:52 PM): EVER
AV (2:07:57 PM): or I will kill you
AV (2:08:04 PM): im going to murder you. if you do that or anything like that again.
AV (2:08:07 PM): fed up with your shit.
daisy(2:08:16 PM): im going to staple an org chart to your forehead
AV (2:08:17 PM): HAhahha
daisy (2:08:26 PM): oh god i just laughed so hard silently i think i gave myself a hernia
5.07.2009
the names of things by jeffrey harrison
Just after breakfast and still
waking up, I take the path cut
through the meadow, my mind caught
in some rudimentary stage,
the stems of timothy bending
inward with the weight of a single
drop of condensed fog clinging
to each of their fuzzy heads
that brush wetly against my jeans.
Out on a rise, the lupines stand
like a choir singing their purples,
pinks and whites to the buttercups
spread thickly through the grasses —
and to the sparser daisies, orange
hawkweed, pink and white clover,
purple vetch, butter-and-eggs.
It's a pleasure to name things
as long as one doesn't get
hung up about it. A pleasure, too,
to pick up the dirt road and listen
to my sneakers soaked with dew
scrunching on the damp pinkish sand —
that must be feldspar, an element
of granite, I remember from
fifth grade. I don't know what
this black salamander with yellow spots
is called — I want to say yellow-
spotted salamander, as if names
innocently sprang from things
themselves. Purple columbines
nod in a ditch, escapees
from someone's garden. It isn't
until I'm on my way back
that they remind me of the school
shootings in Colorado,
the association clinging to the spurs
of their delicate, complex blooms.
And I remember the hawk
in hawkweed, and that it's also
called devil's paintbrush, and how
lupines are named after wolves. . .
how like second thoughts the darker
world encroaches even on these
fields protected as a sanctuary,
something ulterior always
creeping in like seeds carried
in the excrement of these buoyant
goldfinches, whose yellow bodies
are as bright as joy itself,
but whose species name in Latin
means "sorrowful."
waking up, I take the path cut
through the meadow, my mind caught
in some rudimentary stage,
the stems of timothy bending
inward with the weight of a single
drop of condensed fog clinging
to each of their fuzzy heads
that brush wetly against my jeans.
Out on a rise, the lupines stand
like a choir singing their purples,
pinks and whites to the buttercups
spread thickly through the grasses —
and to the sparser daisies, orange
hawkweed, pink and white clover,
purple vetch, butter-and-eggs.
It's a pleasure to name things
as long as one doesn't get
hung up about it. A pleasure, too,
to pick up the dirt road and listen
to my sneakers soaked with dew
scrunching on the damp pinkish sand —
that must be feldspar, an element
of granite, I remember from
fifth grade. I don't know what
this black salamander with yellow spots
is called — I want to say yellow-
spotted salamander, as if names
innocently sprang from things
themselves. Purple columbines
nod in a ditch, escapees
from someone's garden. It isn't
until I'm on my way back
that they remind me of the school
shootings in Colorado,
the association clinging to the spurs
of their delicate, complex blooms.
And I remember the hawk
in hawkweed, and that it's also
called devil's paintbrush, and how
lupines are named after wolves. . .
how like second thoughts the darker
world encroaches even on these
fields protected as a sanctuary,
something ulterior always
creeping in like seeds carried
in the excrement of these buoyant
goldfinches, whose yellow bodies
are as bright as joy itself,
but whose species name in Latin
means "sorrowful."
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