yesterday, this view
as i walked with my best friend
sharing sad stories

yesterday, this view
as i walked with my best friend
sharing sad stories

like a golden cloud
this aspen cheers up the pines
rather than pining

here we are again
begging for an opening,
trapped between closed doors

it’s a public street
they can’t tell us we can’t park
in an unmarked zone
rich white people suck
all the joy from their mansions
and spit it elsewhere
yet, we shall obey
for we’re mere public servants
who just can’t get home
how can one measure
twenty-five minutes a day
taken from our lives?
simple math, of course:
the same numbers measure how
we teach our students
it’s a public street
and we park on our soap box
with no microphone
a windy beach day
followed by farmers’ market
for tonight’s dinner


they all want to know
(yet no one really wants to)
how much it hurts. Hurts.

it’s in a painting
the storm-washed sea, blue background
the broken cable

it’s in this beach day
(today’s my uncle’s birthday)
and we can’t go back

here we are, singing
because it’s all we can do
after the long drive
a forest cabin
three decades to say goodbye
to all that he built

words cannot describe
how much these hills feel like home
(what was once my home)

an empty highway,
a rural life, cloudy skies
and. oh yes. this lake.

you can’t picture it.
so let me draw you a map.
my Finger Lakes love.

yes, it’s just a store.
you can only imagine
what a store could be.


Colorado born
yet half my childhood is
upstate New York bred

can you taste the plums?
fresh from the roadside farm stand
just pop them in. wait.

you’ll be here with me.
choosing the best ears of corn.
loving, loving life.
packed up and ready
with the bikes fully secured
for our summer trip

a packed-up cooler
electric, adaptable:
symbol of planning

itinerary
revised, rewritten, reread,
printed for Plan Z

(there is no Plan Z)
there is just the dream, the trip
on these four tires
pushed to her limit,
she managed to meet her peak,
find her inner strength

