Your Birthday

Coppola had said he couldn’t believe something so specific could be gone

Our going-away party
coincided with your birthday this year
miles away but the same idea:
we all think we’re special
we all think we’ll be missed.
Yes!
I missed you THAT night
looking at strange pictures
of you & Roland (a goddamn cat)
on a cell phone. Dork.

THAT night.

But Seattle stole another anyway –
In February I was there to mourn
the one, (maybe two)
I had made the pilgrimage
relieved of the longing
but you
in Fremont
a jumble of lost phone numbers
takeout
and flakiness
you know
we just didn’t bother
Later
(After)
I imagine you in a small space
on a clean couch
with no dishes and a sturdy lock
plotting a future
planning that family
but
for real! You were searching for the feeling
that living life sucks out
because
you know
after all
life is never
that good.

Sentinel 1: Fall

Sentinel 2: Winter

Sentinel 3: Spring

Sentinel 4: Moody Summer

Sentinel 5: Brilliant Summer

Sentinel 6: Fire Season

The Plot

dull knife
neglected garden
store bought heirloom
and
orange cherries

a tomato left un-staked
becomes a snake
in the garden
winding its way
through the weeds

a strawberry patch
filled with clover
in bloom
eases into the rest

four marigolds
a short and crinkly row
still important
to my girl

this is the plot
broken down
still alive
still full

Fairy House

Peony Thief!

a pink fragrant bloom
from our stubby peony
stolen with no thought

Our 4th Day Back the Robins Sang

Private thoughts at a bargain price
I spy at an idle diary

It was a northwest spring
early and warm
you took your tiny frame to the shack
with root beer and cigars

I am here (for you!) 13 years later
on tiptoes I long for you
I stare over the fence
at the windows of an old Tudor
wanting to see shape or shadow

I left a message
you'll never get
near the largest
rhododendron
I have
ever met
Left my One-Stars
in a nook
next
lived in and
filled with regrets

The greenhouse is gone but I feel the ache
the spot is now home to a
basketball hoop
I signed a bench
to the beat
of a
bouncing
ball
and
it
all
seemed
so
rude

Dungeness Spit, Olympic Peninsula

Richard Serra's Wake. Olympic Sculpture Park, Seattle