in an early morning kitchen

in an early morning kitchen
the baker collects her bowls and spoons and measuring cups
lays out her ingredients - flour, butter, milk and sugar
the light is low
only the voice from the radio spills into her space

and then she begins to combine the ingredients
in the early morning kitchen a streak of light stretches across the stainless steel tabletop
before it is smothered in flour
soon a rubbery dough flexes back and forth
on the cool smooth surface
and fights against her every new shove

when the oven reaches the perfect temperature of heat
she opens the door
slides in the pan with settled loaves
awash with hope of warm, tender bites
the baker rinses flour from her hands
wipes them against her apron and sits down on the stool beside the table

where she kneads her hands
softening the tendons and muscles tired from work
in an early morning kitchen

what got left behind - tire chains

The tire chains you bought in Portland lean against the wall between our bedroom doors.  A reminder to me (no doubt) to mail them to Carmen along with your sunglasses which arrived today (of course).  The tire chains are funny to me.  Never expected you to need them.  Seemed like overkill.  Reminded me of your father.  Always prepared.  My challenge will be making a trip to the post office in a timely manner (I'll try).  I need stamps anyway.  I'm guessing I can do the flat box without the post office being open. 

It seems

we are always recreating ourselves

a cold December day
wind whips large, rust colored leaves
a single pigeon head bowed
stretches wings back before
lift

I watch one squirrel sit upon
a branch's tip
before leap to branch below

wonder what the creatures' plan
on a day temperatures drop
twenty from the day before
to accomodate the weather's shift

to lose time

a great clock hangs alongside the moon, hands tick
while I watch stationary train cars
and my car purrs beneath my seat

you say the cars slip off the tracks often
I contemplate your words before I turn around
and time ticks beneath the wheels to your house

Thursday morning in my livingroom

at home for a break on the couch
John Aielli and John Gorka on the radio
plays Wilco Impossible Journey
I watch Luddah and Godot spar on the rug
Luddah on hind legs reaches Godot
who stands and leans back
into a crouch,
friends play
pieces fit together
music and pets

many times before

last night I went to hear Don Delillo read -
the Prologue from Underworld
felt like he'd read those same words many times before
to a room full of people
much like those assembled last night

Dick, my back fence neighbor,
Rebecca, the poet, I taught in sixth grade
who begins at Mount Holyoke in a few weeks
Geoff Ripps, a father of an old friend of Laura's,
and a man of words
my government professor who I used to run into at Austin High

Jessen Auditorium filled with readers, who anticipated
a young man's leap over a turnstile
and waited patiently for the batter to connect his bat and the ball
to win the game
listened as he answered three questions from the audience
following the reading
questions he'd probably answered many times before

and I left last night
reminded of the night I saw Carlos Santana at Merriweather Post Pavilion
many years before
great show - feels like he's played those songs many times before
easy, elastic and familiar