January 2025
Bio Note: I encountered a journal entry from December 2023 that labeled 2023 as one of the worst years of my life. A year later, I can't even recall the "crises, losses, challenges, deficits, illness, changes, etc. (i.e., all other unmentionable negative happenings)" that led me to that space. A year later, I love where I am, back on the Montana Hi Line, teaching at a tribal college, ordering my next manuscripts.
Abandoned Woods
I miss the avian couples I lured
to the worn cedar feeder,
weathered raw, splintered,
its dovetail seams loosened by use.
Territorial Jays, sweet Black Capped
Chickadees, seasonal Orioles and Summer
Tanagers, loyal Titmice, Nuthatches, Downy,
Hairy, and Red Bellied Woodpeckers pairing,
mating, nesting. I left that ragtag flock
and the feeder, along with the creaking
deck planks dry rotting out of their screws
working loose from old joists creating
tripping hazards, a mine field
of jutting flat heads lying in wait
to bite the rubber toe of my shoe
and catapult my unsteady weight fro.
I left the winged menagerie to watch
over the sagging too-steep plywood
ramp, a useless liability when rain-
slicked and winter iced. I left them
to the three rickety riserless steps
drooping askance, the bottom
tread split to two, entirely
liberated from its stringer
and rusted nails. I left the steadfast
cardinals and itinerant hummingbirds
to overgrown orange honeysuckle,
peppermint, and mimosa stands
reclaiming their yard. To the man
who wants only sex but doesn’t do
maintenance or intimacy. To the wayfaring
does that strip every fruit sapling he plants.
Sourdough
Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread;
remade all the time, made new.
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven
Even before the pandemic
and dearth of yeast, he itched
to bake bread. Honeymoon
giddy at the beginning,
feeding the starter added
an absent element of routine
to his days splayed
in disparate commitments
he could scarcely keep
track of without electronic
reminders. Time after time,
the loaf cooled to an inedible
brick which, after one slice,
occupied precious counter space
until moldy enough to toss.
The disappointing product
of all that labor refusing to reflect
well upon his effort, failing
to perform as something
to brag about. Daring,
dare I say, to make him
look incompetent. Impervious
to a blame
that must be assigned
to one side or the other.
Like the investments in the still,
the wine fermenting operation,
the wood carving tools, the cheese
making equipment, and a dozen
other flashes in the cast iron skillet,
the proofing banneton, the extra long
loaf pans, the specialty canvas
bread storage bags sit idle
in high cabinets, the twenty pounds
of bread flour drawing may flies.
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