Three Sisters

Three Sisters

They talk and they
twist memories out
from the aether, spin-
ning them over and
again into new dramas —
three-headed destiny
each one sheds
light; a spotlight
of information. They
are like one mind
thinking over the past
forming opinions,
laughing at long-
forgotten disagreements
finding new ground
to stand on

Prejudiced

It’s lunchtime and here I am sitting in my van
parked in a grocery store parking lot, blowing my
nose in a used napkin. A napkin previously used to
blow my nose. Homemade vinaigrette sits on the dash
in hopes that the December sun is heavy enough to break
through the overcast and liquefy the coagulated coconut oil.
It won’t. And I realize that if I were sitting in my
Prius, instead of my work van, I would satisfy so many
generalizations right now; with my pony-tail, writing
poetry, drinking kombucha. Maybe I don’t need  
the Prius after all. Maybe the Prius needs me.
And the high-schoolers yell at each other across  
the parking lot, desperate for attention, while the stay-at-home moms sit
in their vans, just a little longer, enjoying the silence that comes
from an afternoon car-ride nap. If I listen closely,
the trafficswells become fingertips of the ocean, trying
to pull me back into Her, while the douglas-fir gently wave goodbye.

Forager

I have
a secret
desire
to forage,

to spend
long hours
absorbed

by the hunt.

Searching,
through spray
of stream,

under
plump
drops


from
branches above.

To find that
knowledge
held in
the palms
of ancestors

and
buried in
trunks
of elder pine 

would be
to forage
on the least
likely, but
only proven path.

Please,
don’t tell
my colleagues
or my bosses.


I won’t even tell
Google search.


Only run it
through
the processor

of my mind,

this secret
desire to
return

to the land.