Like my one-eyed cat

cocking his head,

sticking his tongue out,

making me laugh

even though I

did not ask for,

may not deserve,

such kindness.

for the lovely

weekend

 

for growing

into incredible

women

 

for inspiration

support,

advice

 

for reminding

me who

I was

and am

 

for electricity

from laughter,

conversation

 

for lessons

of thermaphones,

haboobs,

wordles

 

for wisdom

shared

and lived

 

for beauty

perfected

both inside

and out

 

for strength

of bodies,

minds,

hearts

 

for lives

shaping

the world

 

for hugs

my shoulders

still feel

 

for love

shining across

miles,

years

Those roots who grew me then

sustain me now,

slurping up laughter

filling my trunk with truth,

fortifying these branches

that do not always feel so strong

against adulthood’s fierce wind.

The sun floats–

not setting, not rising–

until our next reunion

River has learned

a new song during

our time apart.

I sit close to her,

listening with more

than my ears

to everything else

I have missed.

April wears

lilac perfume,

intoxicating everything

as he drives across Wyoming

and I drive home from work,

he tells me about being able to see

storm clouds fifty miles away.

His voice crescendos as he describes

rain sheeting down, sky turning

grey then white then purple.

Yes, I say, yes, and I wish

we could have this

conversation for hours

because he sounds more alive

than he has

in a very long time.

Monday morning shower

to wash away the weekend,

prepare for return to civilization.

 

Water rushes over dirt-stained knees,

coloring white bathtub brown,

muddy memory of crawling through jungles.

 

Shampoo scrubs out twigs, leaves,

sticky remnants of swinging through trees.

 

Facial cleanser exfoliates away two oily days,

slippery shadow of leaping through forests.

 

Fingernails rid each other of grimy substance,

one by one, deleting evidence,

gritty proof of hanging from cliffs.

 

Razor trims stubbly growth,

prickly artifact of primitive communion.

 

Steam clears filthy pores,

stubborn memorabilia from earth’s damp bed.

 

Soap foams across glowing limbs,

fading sun’s colorful embrace,

a hangover from drinking too much sky.

 

Towel wipes away wet drops,

leaving me dry, squeaky clean,

a restless, reluctant participant

in this long, tame week.

Winter keeps glancing at the door

then looking back

at lovely spring,

finding excuses to stay

just a little longer.

Easy to loathe the wind

until you notice

grass dancing, seeds soaring