last weekend i spent two whole days doing nothing but exactly what i wanted to be doing. i rode bikes in the changing autumn leaves and preached social justice organizing to a room full of my elders. i stayed up late drinking wine with lifelong friends and concocted plans of building families and supportive parenting. i hiked in the woods and laughed really hard and went out for brunch.
last night i went to basha's and ate homemade CSA-veggie soup, fresh homemade bread, and homemade chocolate truffles (none of which i can personally take credit for home-making - thanks 1427 pacific!)
this morning i woke up early and made coffee and sat in the living room when the sun was doing it's incredible dawning-streaming-light-thing. i swept, and scrubbed and scrubbed the greasy stove with a passion. i also stumbled upon this poem via facebook friends of facebook friends; i really like it though i have no idea who the author is or my train of connection to them:
HOW NOT TO ENTER WINTER
EMPTY-HANDED
1.
Hold a candle to a mirror.
Spell out the lover’s name in tallow.
Dip a spatula in water.
If brittle letter-blobs chilled on silver
won’t lift off evenly
set him aside.
2.
Fill a black sky-speckled kettle
with a rolling boil.
Steam quart jars.
Can light.
Seal and cool.
3.
Take a cleaver to red cabbage.
Thunk! Choose half.
Ink its imprint: dense violet strata
curved around a geologic core.
Pull yourself together.
Shred the clean side
for a tart slaw. Serve.
4.
Root for your future.
Bring daughters into wind.
Bend to the field.
Watch their white hands
numb and gladden
around red potatoes.
Say: Dig for our ancestors.
See with your fingers.
Quick work.
Frost’s no false alarm.
5.
Squash Song:
Simmer forever
my delicata: two-toned
thick-skinned
winter keeper.
Why take a lifetime
to be tender
While beside you
the slick seeds burn?
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