Find me on the hill

cloaked in sun-born light,

drying my hair

in the constant current~

that’s only on the hillside.

At the center of the bay,

I feel like I could reach up

to touch the clouds,

the light fluffy ones;

higher are the thin wispy,

veil-like puffs~ moving quickly,

too fast to mind or matter.

Nature’s blinds provide shade where they alone see fit;

only to shift direction~

for always, they choose

the winds melodiousness ticks.

An upcoming evening!

We head out, downtown

to the dinghy dock,

for some Caribbean cuisine.

Go, they call for you,

the roosters from the hill;

go, untie your moored vessel,

no longer to leave the flock unfed.

Nor to let their bawling mouths

disturb the others red combs

or saddle feathers. As they

rack their throats, busily pecking, while tilting an eye up to the sky.

For when the fields are picked,

and the tired fishermen,

with their dogs,

have gone home to rest,

you will find me waiting,

on the hillside.

For only then will the sounds

of the white gulls mew be heard,

or the brown doves coo~

high above, or

amongst the wild grass.

Then, you will see

the strips of moon~green,

and darkened blue;

a gentle rising and fall.

Come, again and again.

No music today.

Instead, the incessant “rattle”

of sunglasses against my

Ilia lipstick, shade “At Last”.

As the plugged white cord

“scrapes” the edge of the dash

quietly, yet annoyingly~“rubbing“ and hanging to the floor.

Suddenly, a constant “click, clack”

the green arrow, turning left.

Then, one big “swish, swoosh”

the rain, “swiped” clean;

collecting on the windshield

right after a “spritz”~ sun shower. Light droplets heard as only

just a “pitter”. Pitter turns ”patter”

within the next “tick” of the clock. “Tick, tick”.… another

“swish, swoosh“ is coming near.

It’s raining harder now.

One Egyptian bead “swaying”, slightly “tapping” the

carved wood symbol of Peace;

hanging, “gliding”

to and from the mirror.

Another “click, click, click”, (turning right this time).

“Swish, swoosh“ away more water.

All the droplets pooling

but the blinker keeps “clicking“ long after the turn. “Clunk”.

“Snap” back the handle in place-

a vehicle recall never fixed

(to lazy to call).

“Ahhh” …. a long “yawn”,

for a long day .… “sniff“

(low immune system).

“Swish, swoosh”, my hand leaves the steering wheel once again

to click down the handle.

The rain continues to fall.

Then, my daily reminder,

steady “beeping”,

steady “beeping”

accompanied by

the flashing red image.

”Seatbelt, beep, seatbelt, beep“. “Swiisshh”. Wet pavement tracks, seen in shiny grey reflections.

Swerve, “kerplunk“, the

“da~dum, rattle, da~dum” bumps, uneven car tilts “groans” and “whirls” in the road~

smooth pavement again.

“Whirling“ tires, slowing pads, “whining“ breaks to stop at red.

“Click, click”, blinker turns left

(past the batting cages this time).

“Crack”- fly ball.

“Giggles” and youthful “flirts“ heard through the half open window. “Weeeen wwoooon“ ….

the electric window goes up,

no more rain on the inside handle. No more giggles.

Pay attention to the busy road.

Last turn. No blinker.

Slowing to stop,

car “rattles”~ sunglasses too,

while the wipers keep

“swish, swooshing“ until, “badadadadum” … big “click“

and a sudden jerk into park.

Then the “click” of the keys

turns it all into “silence”.

No music today.

Instead, an incessant “rattle”

sunglasses against my Ilia

lipstick, shade “At Last”.

As the plugged white cord

“scrapes” the edge of the dash

quietly, yet annoyingly~“rubbing“ and hanging to the floor.

Suddenly, a constant “click, clack”

the green arrow, turning left.

Then, one big “swish, swoosh”

the rain, “swiped” clean.

Collecting on the windshield

after the “spritz”~ sun shower. Light droplets heard as only

just a “pitter”. Pitter turns ”patter”

within the next “tick” of the clock. “Tick, tick”.… another

“swish, swoosh“ is coming near.

It’s raining harder now.

One Egyptian bead “swaying”, slightly “tapping” the carved

wood symbol of Peace;

hanging, “gliding”

to and from the mirror.

Another “click, click, click”, (turning right this time).

“Swish, swoosh“ away more water.

All the droplets pooling

but the blinker keeps “clicking“ long after the turn. “Clunk”.

“Snap” back the handle in place-

a vehicle recall never fixed

(to lazy to call).

“Ahhh” …. a long “yawn”,

for a long day .… “sniff“

(low immune system).

“Swish, swoosh”, my hand leaves the steering wheel once again

to click down the handle.

The rain continues to fall.

Then, my daily reminder,

steady “beeping”,

steady “beeping”

accompanied by

the flashing red image.

”Seatbelt, beep, seatbelt, beep“. “Swiisshh”. Wet pavement tracks, seen in shiny grey reflections.

Swerve, “kerplunk“,

the every day traveled

broken pavement

“da~dum, rattle, da~dum” bumps, uneven car tilts “groans”

“swoooooo” around and past

that part of the road~

smooth pavement again.

“Whirling“ tires, slowing pads, “whining“ breaks to stop at red.

“Click, click”, blinker turns left

(past the batting cages this time).

“Crack”- fly ball.

“Giggles” and youthful “flirts“ heard through the half open window. “Weeeen wwoooon“ ….

the electric window goes up,

no more rain on the inside handle. No more giggles.

Pay attention to the busy road.

Last turn. No blinker.

Slowing to stop,

car “rattles”~ sunglasses too,

while the wipers keep

“swish, swooshing“ until, “badadadadum” … big “click“

and a sudden jerk into park.

Then the “click” of the keys

turns it all into “silence”.

I‘m getting ready for the wedding,

I put on my black dress.

It’s long, elegant and full of grace.

I struggle to get into it.

Others around me seem arranged

and ready for the wedding. Elegantly, swiftly, and gracefully running past and around me.

Family and friends.

Equipped strangers.

As I battle with the elegance,

grapple with the grace,

untrained in the beauty

of my elegant black dress.

My legs feel weighted,

I realize my ordinary clothes

lie underneath my dress.

Stiff, unfashionable, heavy.

A brown tank top.Two bras~

one with an underwire, another just stifling me. Layers of disheveled rolled-up garments to sort through, to hassle with.

I don‘t remove my black dress,

I just work on getting them off.

The elegant black dress covers me. I notice everyone’s attending

the wedding before me.

I feel them brush by me,

the room empties ….

I sense the heaviness of my frame,

the miscarried black dress.

I look at myself for awhile,

and the long mirror knows.

I put on makeup, fix my hair,

find some jewelry, movements that have been memorized,

yet are not a part of me.

I smooth out the elegance.

I fix my straps, and look for grace.

I stare at myself.

I am the last one.

In a beautiful elegant dress

late to the wedding.

Numb miles in the cold wind

to rest in the rain shadow.

There is snow on the range,

yet I'm back to lay.

A frost casts over.

The forest shelters,

teeming the hillside,

yet it seems not enough.

Staring from below I hold the peak.

Swirling, disappearing wind.

Sage-covered brush hills,

like a blanket of cold desert sand.

Blistering rust creeping the Bristlecone,

as if it’s climbing the crests of soil.

Big roots feeds its spine.

If I cannot be heard,

I needn’t break tread.

Eyes on tree lines.

The distance on the horizon

with a climate that vaults frozen time.

Following comes the dawn.

Feet feel the road ends paved.

Heard whispers,

silvery, quiet tones.

A blistered grip molts

the frozen steering wheel.

Still snow covers the range.

A known return back

still dressed in frost.

Casting out onto the rain shadow ~

protected by its windward hills.

worrying words

we write, we worry

for they show

signs in yellow

whatever the word

it leads to another

down long narrow hallways

resembling each other

grow, shrink,

glow, leak

foul stench, fluid-

in a puddle

on the same floor

repeatedly

the quiet defeat

at peace, forgetting

forgiveness is asleep

on one’s own feet-

exhausted,

all the same

worrying words.

Summer Camp Journal:

Im not goeng to camp tomroe. My mom saed I hav to. I amto scared that the old kids will do the camp skit agaen. When I sat down to watsh it I dident no it would be like that. Bobby saed it wasent scary but it was. Our camp cownselr made us sit up front. Then they saed ACTION and that is where it went bad. Lily Hillmyer triped and fell. She hurt her tooth or somthin. Her fake mom had to take her to the doctrs. And it was a DENTIST!! They waeted in the waeting room and herd someone screeming! And they dident leaf! I would have leaft! Then the nurse saed the doctor will see you and Lily Hillmyer got up and went into the room. It was just a chare so she cood sit down but it was scary. The doctor saed let me see your tooth and she opned her mowth. Then he lookd in her ear! HER EAR! My camp fwends thout that was funy but I dident get it. So then the doctor saed to his assistant looks like we need to give her a trim and Lily Hillmyer says trim WHAT becaws that sownded crazey! Then I saw the doctr take owt a GIGANTIC scizsor! And he cut her hare! Her hare?! Why? What was goeng on I dont no but I started to get unconfortbl. I aksed the cownnselr to moove back but she saed no. But I moved a little back and bumpd into Bobby and he made fun of me. He’s meen. Then Lily Hillmyer said my tooth my tooth ow it hurts! And the doctor said ok it’s time and took out a big NEEDLE! I meen BIG. So big it was tawlr then him! Everyone lafed by I skreemed! Then everyone lafed agaen but at me. They are all meen. Like I saed Im not goeng bak. The doctor then poold her tooth out and there was fake blood that sgwerted everywhere! It made me feel bad! So I closed my eyes but Bobby made me put them down beecaws he coodnt see behind me with my arms like that. So I sgwinted insted. Then the doctor said Lily Hillmyer could giv it to the tooth faery. Looking like that?! It was gross. Now im scared to loos my tooth that’s loose too. Bobby saed the tooth faery isnt reel but my brothr lost his tooth last yeer and SOMEONE took it so if the tooth faery isnt reel who takes it ?! Maebe this DENTIST! No way, Im not goeng to let my teeth fall out and im not goeng to camp tomroe evn if my mom says I hav to. Today was horibl.

Together, the meal arrived

accompanied by a carafe

coated with a dusty, bold cabernet.

I cross my legs,

pulling in closer to the table ~ expectantly.

Leaning over to pour a glass

my arm grazes over the truffle croquettes,

feeling warm steam on my skin;

I catch sight of droplets

condensing on my inner wrist.

My appetite turns direction,

a sudden pause

to grab one.

The delicate potato touches my plate,

I look over the white clothed table.

Our palates elaborate, tasting

poulet de Bresse soaked in buttermilk

with a hint of chamomile~ braised,

poached, then browned; topped

with tender roasted sunchokes.

A bone-in ribeye pairs nicely

in a red wine reduction, lined with

rich, fine marbling cooked into the steak.

A Savory side-dish of prepared vegetables

spooned out with piquant roasted chickpeas,

and balsamic beets~ all along to graze

on a Tuscan herbed dipping oil,

balanced bites of marinated cerignola olives, deliciously served warm

with a crusted kalamata bread.

A lovely moment in time, to hold onto.

The flavors I wish I could taste, forever.