slugs thrive, and I’m back in Seattle, except
that here, broccoli, cucumbers, zucchini, and peppers
arrive in waves

and our woodworker-electrician and I tackle the barn renovation
in earnest

still, in a few breaks, I cross the line into Maine
sometimes with my Lady of Children’s Television
leaping rapturously in big surf
and sometimes with the afternoon all to myself
and once with the whole family
only to discover I’ve packed No 4 sunscreen
rather than No 15
(as a serious burns will demonstrate)

in all of this matter of burrows and burrowing
in the earth, in the foliage, at the beach

while fully resolving to keep the wedding simple
my Lady of Parsley and Sage delves deep into planning
what has already become too complicated for my taste
(“what do you mean, you don’t want a potluck?”)
and we meet with an Oversight Committee

in Portsmouth Harbor the family tours a Viking ship
on its way from Iceland to Manhattan
and the following week, a full-size Theodore Tugboat
with rolling eyes and all, as any kid watching PBS could explain

all the while, life itself feels submerged in Limbo
as absconded as our plumbers

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

 

each springtime and summer
we go our rounds, grubbing out

pervasive maple sprouts, glistening slugs
the evil elegance of bindweed

to open way
for what flowers or what bears would harvest

each repetition its own mixture
of success and disappointment

* * *

as my Lady of the Fabric Bins explains
the palette of the tongue

its savory and sweet
variations of wine tannin or bite

torches in our smoking garden twilight
with charcoal, glowing and ready

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

sometimes quite sandy, sometimes the clay
we inherit

black loam’s best for farming
excessive acid or alkali
impose their toll
compacted soil simply won’t breathe
my Lady of Potting
explains

“organic matter,” she says, meaning compost
and manure, especially. “it needs to be fed”

to say nothing of her disdain for “dead dirt”

so I stop to admire earthworms
flourishing in healthy soil

air appears in many natures
especially when it breathes
inspiration. expiration. a circle of life
a tornado, a cooling, a withdrawal into nothing
dry lines of laundry. clear a picnic table
swirl smoke from an open blaze. snuff burning matches
lift a kite. lift an airplane. lift birds
and countless insects. sometimes paper
sometimes squirrels. ripple the waters
ripple the flags. the prayer flags, especially
burn with heat. freeze with ice

water appears in many natures
sometimes sweet. sometimes salty
sometimes running. sometimes still
fresh or brackish. a cloud, a storm, a gentle rain
a stream, a pond, a cavernous pool, an ocean

rock appears in many natures
sometimes quartz-infused. sometimes basaltic
limestone’s favored for buildings
granite, for headstones and curbstones
coal fuels industry. ore refines into metal
gemstones become mysterious in their clarity
mountains tear into the wind. shape the rain

some qualities are visible. many are not
they mix together in thousands of ways
look at the horizon, look at the ground
landscapes emerge apart from map-making

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

greens

plant and weed     beside the kitchen     and
the forerunner of a fern bed     behind lilacs

on the swampy side     ignore omens     asking

the real question

if you’ll ever cry      Where are we going?
“it’s a big mistake”     Going     where?

my earth sinks / would always sink     if

it weren’t for stones     floating to the surface

each winter

land bridge jeopardy

cruel ground

stone soup     rather than potato     I intended
to tame     with compost, yes      and worming

so it was     holes in dirt     with next year’s
garden already planned out     she’s ready
to hear    I’ve never been fond of mowing
a lawn     but take to composting anyway

digging in

royally singing     in praise of red wigglers

like a man

so truly      the Cadillac

on my daily
commute

extending the scale      new construction
along all his options     have me wondering
how the routes would be     by the time
I retire

what will be planted     where forest was

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.