So Fresh

summer garden joys:
second of many salads
grown and cut by me

A Tree Grows in Denver

family tradition:
plant trees for graduates
and watch how they grow

my mother's tree stands
at my great-aunt's former home
taller than us all

my sister's tree shades
disappearing middle-class 
(our childhood home)

and my tree shocks me
evading the ash borer
with grandiose grace

thank you for the “no.”
as phallic as this lupine
(allium ignored)

i will learn from this
(things i tell myself at night)
and grow a sagebrush

it will bloom purple
(you can’t see my true color)
and you can’t taste it

yet, here it blossoms
as beautiful as the home 
you constantly loathe

i know. i know. i…
you don’t see what i see. stop.
but god. how it hurts.

summer days beckon
drinks on rooftop patios
(mocktails for the kids)

the cold creek calls us
with shade, icy refreshment
from the sun’s harsh heat

and these cousins bond
under summer vacation 
(our home is their heart)

sunset’s golden light
shines brighter in the mountains 
with my perfect pup

an eight-mile walk
through Colorado’s beauty
even before blooms

what you don’t see here:
picking rhubarb in the rain
for salvation pie

three-thirty a.m.
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps.
intentional steps.

this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse.
(Super-Flower-Blood)

and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps).
and i. am. eclipsed.

shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright.
(we still have our moon)

a midnight rainstorm
brought early this raging creek
and stole seed-planting

yet, cycle views burst
with blossoms of spring color
saving the lost day

from prom to vaccine
in a short eight-hour night
(let science save us)