The Absence of Wavelength

Where We Played

…and stumbled in early day (series?)

Down the hill we run, stumble, fall —
tumble, roll, get up, run
to the meadow, amid the flora,
wild as us, where we play.
Still tumble, fall down, early day.

Bee stung, we run up the mound
to mother. she packs sun burnt skin
in mud to ease the pain.

With a band-aid and a pat,
told, ‘go outside. It’s a nice day.’

We wouldn’t want to waste the sun,
where we climb, granite bluff.
tug at moss, salamanders scurry away.

In dense wood, red-faced sweaty mopheads,
chasing tree toads, hopping fern to fern.
Few caught, in pockets shoved.

We hear her holler, and we run
past pines, up the walk, deposit shoes
relieved of sand, by the steps
of the sheltered truck.

We can’t sit just yet.
In the kitchen, In our skivvies,
she picks them off, one by one.
We’re barely bitten by anchored bugs.

Dad pretends to eat one,
then it’s lunch.


5.11.24
5.12.24 really, midnight

For my departed brother and upcoming celebration of life

When your sight-impaired, thick fingered with tablet while inspired…nothing
gets in the way. Give me a blindfold, tie my hands, I’ll peck with my nose. Meh on talk-to-text.