Blowing on Ice Cream

Blowing on Ice Cream

In a few minutes,
you will wish that
the soup you are
blowing on now
were warmer. Where
is that perfect
experience, and
why do we expect
to discover it,
the triple scoop
ice cream cone
not leaking
through the
napkin, along
your palm and
wrist, that hot
tomato soup
coddling the
the roof of your
mouth like
bathwater does
your body,
only endlessly.

We Are Here for You

We Are Here for You

We are the yellow field
that looks yellower
in gray autumn.

We are the root beer
barrels that the rolled
hay bales remind

you of. We are your
mother’s hands
painting the bread

dough with egg white.
We are the sheen
and the warmth

and the fragrance of
the bread. We are
every whale who

swam alongside your
boat in the ocean,
we are the terriers

and black labs who
burrowed beneath
the fence in the yard

and came home when
you called. We are all
the apples within

the orchard, growing
or fallen. We are
the warmth under

the down blanket that
settles over you, and
the light in the morning

that tells you to come look
at it, and the strength in
your legs when you stand.

The Painting Speaks to You

The Painting Speaks to You

Thank you for coming
tonight to watch the kids,

there’s money for pizza
in the kitchen, bedtime

is 10:30, don’t let them
just wet their toothbrushes

to pretend they’ve brushed,
please watch them brush,

what else am I forgetting,
I want to make sure you

know everything you need
to so that you’re all safe

and happy, so that you
all grow up and feel at least

three versions of love.
I wish I didn’t have to

leave, but since I do, know
how much you mean to me,

and remember to wear gloves,
and go to the dentist, and say

thank you to your teachers and
be kind to those who are strange

or in pain, for once you were
or will be strange in a land

unfamiliar to you. There is
so much to say in limited

space, you’ll need to say
these things to your children

also, and to the sitters looking
after your children that you must

speak to about the children
they are caring for, tonight

or in fifty years or in
a thousand years.

Bookmarks List/Bedside Table

Currently reading/enjoying/watching....

This page about the star life cycle from NASA. This helped me write a poem last week, "Novae," but I keep returning to read more.

This poem, “Made for TV,” by Kathleen Kirk (on StorySouth).

Also this poem, “Breakfast for Supper,” by Christine Stewart-Nunez.

This interview with artist Mary Carlson on Bomb’s blog. Carlson makes some fabulously weird sculptures (check out her Saints and Demons work--WOW!), but I especially love her porcelain Flowers.

And this new process video from Robert Josiah Bingaman (I wrote about his process videos and gorgeous work before). It spawned an interesting conversation I had on Twitter with a few other artists and creative folk....I was asking them a question about poems, which I’ll now ask you. Upon watching this video, I was struck by how many hours (196!!) went into this painting, how many months, and how many layers. I loved watching Bingaman’s underpainting, and how that shaped the final image as we see it.

I was wondering--is there some sort of underwork present within all pieces of art, whether or not it is visible? I’ve never spent even more than 5 hours on an individual poem (more on my collection, now that I think of it---many hours on organizing/arranging, and many more to come), but I wonder if some of the energy from the first images/words on the page survives editing.

What do you think? Is there “underwork” in what you create? And what are you reading/enjoying?

Lifeguard

Lifeguard

If I am your lifeguard
will you be my lifeguard,
one of us in the water,
one in the chair. Which
would you like me to be,
the one eating a soft pretzel,
or the one sleeping on a
pink towel with a green palm
tree sewn onto it. The one
with her feet in the pool,
sitting on the steps, or the
one in line for the high dive.
I keep thinking there’s enough
time for me to be all of them.