Rhubarb Rules

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

Good Steps

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

there's no heartbreak here
just my girl, eighteen years old,
ready to face them

sneakers underneath
(pandemic proms are outdoors,
under tents, in grass)

she's taller, braver.
in her silver floor-length gown,
she masters the night

and aren't we a crowd?
this master-mix of humans,
standing on these rocks?

unsinkable us
right below the Molly Brown
(ready to swim. Win.)

vaccines could save us
(yet not from the ignorance
spread without needles)

this side of the glass
has me trapped like a sad pup
just begging entry

all i want today
is to watch the sunlight shift
on these reborn blooms

the blue-sky morning
can't capture a year of loss
(oh Lord, that sweet scent)

yet afternoon light
so perfectly shines rosy
(ends this hell-frost year)

her last big event
for her high school gymnastics 
in a pandemic

no medals for her.
just bravery: a new sport
and some kind teammates

sometimes a small bloom
from a broken, displaced plant
is all a day needs

even its roots wait
patiently in their soil
basking in the sun

our ski season ends
with bluebird jumps and peak views
(and a pinch of angst)