Ivy and I* have not existed —
outside in days! in her stickered corolla — we leave — feel* — no tire
tracks
that I can see. Marine Dr. is another country
and then the sun thinks! we are no longer there
it* pushes forward as only explorers do — headfirst and stubborn
— all* — stars
on a map from the first
line to the last I’d be deigned
to agree we are
nothing* but how can I —
when light kaleidoscopes — the douglas firs and I — am ginghamed – in sunshine – and* winter air
I wonder
if the chipmunks* in crater lake felt this way —
the first time one of their smooth feet jumped!
onto what* was then not known! as Wizard island they say
your 20’s are difficult and I’ll be damned to hope!* they’re right!
Do you think the chipmunks bathed
in the night sky and felt —
fear do you think — they chose to follow —
the stars — after all
my 30th hour of floured work, I cannot* help
but laugh! when my coworker brings me —
over to the lettuce box (courtesy
of Charlie’s Produce) and we huddle for warmth around a singular
ladybug.
She was birthed spotted and mad —
eyed miles and loves away, stop-*
-ping only for now — as we were,
and somehow, she jumped!
cardboard and leaf and concrete to nestle
in this salad of us — this island that thousands have ventured full –
of chipmunks and magic and the bluest water they tell you –
to be viewed wide —
loving* — eyed and surrounded by — silver
mixing bowls — dough trays — life* — Yes* I* am* always*!
dusted* in flour! — my shoes crunch
in dough! — and* yes*
I still always! — volunteer
to make the whipped
cream at work (we use a hand
drill for it and go on
double speed, our recipe calls for 1 scoop
of ice cream! and the silver almost always
whirs — around the mound —
splashing sugar everywhere! —) because I am feeling!*
delight* and mirth
amongst
all the silver and* old beaten
bowls – the ones that have –
been there the longest, I wonder!* –
if the Townsend Chipmunk feels the same!