This Child, These Tests, These Beginnings

Zoë arrives carrying roses – red

yellow, & pink – burdens that nearly smother

this child – pouting lips, downcast head –

whose shy is sham that lets her test the water.

Zoë wants to plumb all of it, details

large & small, self & Zoë propelled –

dung beetles & rosy stones, balls

of styrofoam pried up by her fingernails, 

a steep slope to the empty pond, a stake 

to pull her body up by, a pile of sand,

small sticks she orders to stand, sticks 

that test her theories of this non-mother land

ruled solely by physics, including her hold

on me as she tightrope-walks my world.

Imaginary Pond

Equipped with one woman, seven men, rocks, rebar, 

a tape measure, a carpenter’s square, 

& a yellow string wound around a willow stick

draw an imaginary line from the midpoint of the front door 

to the midpoint of a soon-to-be-graveled path 

on the far side of an imaginary pond.

Along the far edge of the patio outside the front door

mark equal perpendicular distances from the imaginary line 

to the starting points of the imaginary pond’s oblique-angled sidewalls.

Parallel to the first, draw a second imaginary line

from the starting point of a sidewall to the near edge of the acequia 

(the irrigation canal that brings snow melt 

from the Andes to our community vineyards)

that runs along between the far edge of the imaginary pond 

& the soon-to-be-graveled path.

Mark the distance from the far end of the second imaginary line 

to the far end of one oblique-angled sidewall. Repeat 

(some of the above) to pinpoint a second sidewall.

Note that the pond sidewalls (one day, will) 
meet the far patio edge at identical angles. For the moment, imagine 

crossing a narrow wooden bridge from the far edge of the patio 

over a pond, over a canal, to a graveled path. 

Start from inside the front door.

Keep an eye out for the imaginary toad.

Nooker Prize

your lips: somewhere 

to return to 

when else & other fail

buckle up lock tight

anchor drop

shade pull slow tide

trading gram for pound

at this ringside 

featherweight bout

pepper-laced brine

hint of ozone

asafoetida afterbite

your smile: instantly

lethargic

inspires winsomely

chocolate peppermint toad [cf TCV]

Yes, They Can

Where a raised voice 

from the ruling or military class

can lead directly to beatings, arrest, torture, & murder 

not only of the accused but of their family & friends

a person will assent to anything 

though she already knows she can’t deliver, 

though he knows the product can't be bought or built,
the order filled, the deadline met.

Even thirty years later 

when lethal stakes no longer hold 

people adopt a docile, accommodating stance –
say they’re not lying – no, it’s their way 

of giving us the answers they think we want.

General/Déspota/Tirano Leopoldo Fortunato Galtieri

The Wind with a Hill Approaches

Mornings on bicycles we pedal past a fox

crossing the road, another rushing the vineyard,

then us, watching for nose & ears in the far grass.

Who will make stilts for the boy without a bicycle?

Such wind drives every grape to the end of its stem,

tugs water from the hose, spins the patio fans.

Who will name October’s filly? Pequeña, he says.

Lechita, I say – Little Milk – to make us remember.

A smile, launched by his Buen dia, streams down her face.

One child does standup, a second averts his gaze,

the third, still too young to know Odysseus

sways & rhymes, motions a wine-dark sea.

Lechita, aka Little Milk

Care Less

The last time someone hurt my feelings

was in 1964. I was seventeen. 

A member of the college radio station 

I wanted to become a member of 

said I might be the first candidate flung

(rejected) for trying too hard. 

After I cried, all night I wondered –

what did it mean to try too hard?

Did I need to care less?

The Only Thing I Have Left to Lose

is my bedroom, which is

where I’m sitting now

on the living room couch next to 

Mike, who’s now sitting

on his red chair with ottoman

next to my red chair with ottoman

& our cardboard box

(Quara Malbec)

side tables 
while any minute now (they said 3 PM

but it’s nearly 4) the granite workers 

will trim the side overhangs 

off two kitchen countertops

(stone dust everywhere)

in order to make room

for the new stove

which will replace

the wrong stove, which 

they purchased 

because they didn’t look 

at the photo we sent immediately 

after they asked if we minded if 

they bought our stove

at a different store than the store 

where we found it. 

(Claro que no estaba la misma cocina.) 

Meanwhile, a tiler 

is tiling the shower while 

painters putty & paint

while landscapers place plants while 

carpenters hang fiberglass screen (which
they miraculously found

after they said they couldn’t, after 

they tried plastic screen 

(mierda), then metal

which they painted black because

silver reflected the sun but 

installation caused the paint to crack 

& peel), all this happening at once

while El Jefe (who is here 

only because finally

I took Jeremy’s advice, 

stamped my foot & explained 

that no workers could work on our job

without an onsite on-the-job 

jefe-ing Jefe) jefes.

That went over like a wet fart.

El Jefe grabbed his workers & left

but the next day, they all

came back. Work is getting done 

while I sit in my bedroom 

qua living room (sala)

& wonder 

why I ever thought I needed more

than a one-room house.