with endless shade
to cover our car
and block the roaring
heat from ruining our picnic,
a friendly breeze to
tickle our skin as we
dash like flitting barn swallows
in and out of the
water whose shallow edge
feels like hot springs
on our multi-sized feet,
three bright-as-light life jackets
and a brand-new floatie
(on which we take turns,
carry the baby like she’s in
a bath, and hang from
like patient puppies next to mama),
we have concluded yet another
perfect Kentucky summer day.
Kentucky
Relish
What’s not to love?
Peaches and blackberries from here
in JUNE
(I’ve met the farmer, seen the farm)
a petting farm the kids will never forget
the endless two lane roads that
lead to forests, lakes, rivers,
showing off idyllic red barns,
columnar farmhouses,
well-tamed cattle and horses,
and
peace.
What’s missing?
Traffic.
Light pollution.
Unfriendly city slickers.
The rush to get… anywhere, really.
People who don’t know you wherever you go.
What’s next?
Six more weeks of bike rides,
swimming in warm-water lakes,
exploring backcountry roads,
hiking in diversified forests,
and
relishing the place we never
thought that we could relish.
My New Kentucky Home
This isn’t what I expected.
I imagined intolerable heat
(and it can be)
flat, muggified air
(sometimes it is)
and having to drive 55 miles
to get anywhere decent
(sometimes i just ride the bike instead).
Yes, it is what I expected.
But I didn’t know about
the rolling country roads
(an endless bike trail),
the diversified forests with
trees as gigantic as the
skyscrapers I’m accustomed to,
rivers and lakes and streams
around every corner that bear
bath-warm water to swim in
morning, noon, and night,
bridges that span the lakes,
rivers, and streams in a
magnificent rainbow of
mile-long architectural beauty,
state parks that have no entrance
fees, free hot working showers,
even swimming pools, hotels,
and golf courses, with grounds
maintained as impeccably as
upscale resorts, humidity that
allows me to breathe easier,
pedal faster, and keep my
contacts in all day long,
and
love for my new Kentucky home.
Southern Sweet Air
You will never know how perfectly pink
(like the cotton candy they crave) these
wisps of fluffy clouds above me dance as
my ears are filled with only the soft sounds
of arms dipping into the warm-then-cool water.
You will never taste the freshness of
this Kentucky lake (river), with the bass
biting at his bait, with the girls bobbing
up and down like lures alongside the kayak
while the sun pretends to bring coolness as it
sets behind the flood of hardwoods.
You will never have this moment (my moment)
with my face so sweetly exposed to the
southern sweet air, my ears gushing bubbles,
my heart wishing nothing more but
right now, right now, right now, because
you haven’t given in to the heat,
stripped down to your half-naked self,
and run into the water, remembering
(forgetting) for the first time
how to breathe.
Call the Landlord and Pray
How to cope with a broken water heater
in a house with eight sweaty people:
one—swim in the backyard blowup pool
two—wash laundry in cold water
three—debate about the causes
four—boil water on the stove
five—ride your bike in 90/90
(degrees/humidity) for fifteen miles
and enjoy the sluice of ice cold water
that will wash away all your frustration
with the sweat that swirls down the drain.
Six—call the landlord and pray
(we are in Kentucky after all).
Writing (Riding)
the sun is writing on my back
with an early morning marker
(yellow-orange, scented like
moist soil and ripened pollen)
and i am writing on my bike
as I take hill after sloping hill
under my tires, the curves beckoning
me to the end of the road.
there she waits, a giant sloth of
spring-muddy water creeping
toward the gulf, either side lush
with full-leafed hardwoods.
i wait for them here, moisture
writing on my back, as i relive
the momentous views, the perfect
ride that I never thought could be here.
the sun is higher now, writing across
the sky its midday mark of southern heat,
and they pop out of the car with hugs,
smiles that we will ride into the night.
Yes and No
Day of no:
no bike
no hike
no long drive
no dining out
no mosquito bites
no missing cat
no naughty girls
no lakes
Day of yes:
yes, you can fish for the first time
yes, you can catch five
yes, you can take them home
yes, you can cut them up for dinner
yes, you can pour some of my beer in to cook them
yes, you can buy fresh peaches in June
yes, you can make this damn peach pie without losing it
yes, you can have an extra scoop of cherry ice cream
yes, you can climb down the bank to the creek bed
yes, you could live in Kentucky if you really, really tried
Hugging the White Line
on the road she told me not to take
i hug the white line
in a race against the sunset,
not used to the countryside
with its erratic traffic,
endless cornfields dotted
with day lilies as red-orange
as the sun behind me,
hills that curve and roll into
each other like waves of
rural nonchalance, and its
dangerous lack of streetlights.
with tunes popped in and
the golden glow of a busy day’s end
pushing me home, i beat
my average speed, sweat
dripping down me with as many
torrents as the rainfall that
left me drenched yesterday,
and I come into town, settle the
bike into place on the porch,
grinning at the silence of the
usually-loud streetlight across
the street, still dark in these last
few moments of light, basking in
these last few moments of the race I’ve won.
Step Write Up 