CURFEWS
Noise
Is a cruel ruler
Who is always imposing
Curfews,
While
Stillness and quiet
Break open the vintage
Bottles,
Awake the real
Band.
The Sound of Sunday
At Home with the Lovers of the Earth
by the fire
with the earth lovers
and a rising moon
the Garden Poet pulls red hot rocks
by pitchfork
from glowing coals
each one with its own shape
and story
I brush the embers away
with purple ti leaves
as the pulsing porous surface dazzles
the darkness
like some space stone from afar
ancient
all knowing
inside the arches
of tied guava saplings
we sit and sweat
with these keepers of time
every drop of our perspiration
releases to the solid soil
supporting
just beneath us
lemon basil floats
in our water calabash
and with every prayer
is the casting of spray upon stone
punctuating the thick air
in the zesty garden steam of green
rising in heated refreshment
tonight
a homecoming
remembrance of connection
all things earthly serve
gifting us
may I never again forget my nature
forever giving thanks
outside the womby lodge
water cools
fire warms
moon illumines
aloe soothes
lemon refreshes
garden greens nourish
terra firma holds our feet
until I lay down by the fire
and let the whole earth
hold my whole body
drift off to sleep
warm in the moonlight
fully fed
with the lovers of the earth
In the Hoop
we gather at the beach
where the river meets the sea
beers and kabobs
sweet potato salad from Mary’s garden
dogs brush legs
the sun goes down
by the fire
beautiful women
circle hips
with hula hoops
at sunset
pink clouds turn grey
orange embers flit
into darkening air
swirling in smoke
I try
the hoop
circling circling circling
then don’t want to stop
white foam in the distance
crumbling
“You look like you’re at a Grateful Dead concert”
a friend says from afar
I keep circling
“Is it because I’m wearing a skirt?”
“You just look like you know what you’re doing. Like one of those hoopers at a Dead show”
the sacred hoop
the wheel of life
sun setting on small waves at sea
maybe my secret’s seeping through my hips
desire
to open to life completely
to die in utter surrender
gratefully
the marshmallows are out
Jeb’s made two s’mores
white goop stuck to full cheeks
granules of sand glued to sugar sweet
charcoal-covered hands
he comes to embrace me
head, heart-high
face on my blouse
hula hoop at my ankles
sand sifting through my toes
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