Trimming Hooves

The farrier comes and he talks about North Korea, nuclear bombs,

and a possible war with China that’s blowing around on the news.

He’s holding the hooves of the horses,

the big black draft leans his weight onto him.

We’re talking at least 150lbs of horse haunch

that the farrier supports with his two tattooed arms

while he trims a quarter inch of dead material from the base of the hoof.

The farrier complains he’s getting old but I see he can still hold his own here,

even with these massive animals, even in the middle of what we fear may be

World War Three.

It does not seem like an illusion anymore, this war.

It is something real and far on the horizon,

like an approaching jeep on a desert highway.

Heat waves rising up from pavement, blend with engine exhaust,

but the sound of acceleration cannot be mistaken.

Behind the barn, I can hear the dog

gnawing on the cast-off shards of hoof walls.

 

 

***Creds for the art included go to a wonderful library patron who collaged with me last Friday, age 8! Words in the collage are by Rumi.

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Hiking Between Gunstock and Round Pond

Pepper and I went for a hike yesterday morning in the fresh powder. 6 inches was just enough to cover up all the brown patches that appeared in last week’s thaw. I’m not entirely sure where we ended up, but we made it to round Pond and then explored the red trail running down the hillside toward the cross country ski trails at Gunstock. After that, it was time to have fun with the Hermes 3000 typewriter sitting on my desk.

Feminist Rant from Minne-hopeless

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“Imagine living in a world where there is no domination, where females and males are not alike or even always equal, but where a vision of mutuality is the ethos shaping our interaction.”

“If any female feels she needs anything beyond herself to legitimate and validate her existence, she is already giving away her power to be self-defining, her agency.”
bell hooks, Feminism is for Everybody: Passionate Politics

 

How can I tell you men

you foreigners to this country

to my country, to the country that raised me into

my dreamy and battered womanhood

that no!

Miami is not

the coolest place in the world.

“The women there are as hot as Europeans,” you say

I’m here to tell you that women

are none of your business.

Stretching

***A shout out to Yoga Sol in Northeast Minneapolis for being such a lovely donation-based yoga studio! I’ve been taking classes there for the past two months and it’s been a great way to stay balanced and active this winter.

yoga

At yoga class

our gentle bodies

move together arcing

and swaying,

sometimes tipping over.

So many here,

all right for however long.

 

Cool like the skin

of a citrus fruit,

my teacher’s voice says

it’s good karma

to brush your neighbor

with fingertips or toes.

 

In mountain pose,

I am strong

as I’ve been all day.

Standing tall at the front

of my borrowed blue mat,

arms stretched out for love.

2016-02-23 12.26.06

 

On Leaving

I am bittersweet. I leave you the hello and goodbye in the same sentence, same kiss, the very same word. Get your cold hands away from me. Please. I want to come and go as I please.

I am most myself when I am traveling which means, yes. I am happy most as my body in transit, floating to or from. Rinse and repeat. I will always be your ex-lover on repeat through the old stereo. The words of a Rory Gallagher song go hhhhmmm mmmmm “I packed my things in an overnight bag, A toothbrush and guitar, got no tail to drag.”

My people and my things are borrowed black t-shirts, postcards and the smell of sage in a brown bottle. My life sets up, becomes something. I become someone in the middle of a somewhere. Then the universe unravels in days. The clock is ticking here. Sweet bitter mortality crashes through the solar plexis sideways.

I like the way my pet rats accepts each moment as one that is whole. Here she is in my bedroom. She’s crawling on my shoulders, down my sweater and onto the floor. A week is more than enough time to decide whether or not to accept destiny.

The mountains echo with heartbeats

image2
ECHO OF AWE
sound so high
tone too steep
cry of cliff
echo of awe
image1
The poem above was submitted to the zine by Matt Soza of Laconia, New Hampshire. It’s simple and poignent words are accompanied by Matt Lanoue’s photographs of Gilford, New Hampshire. Lanoue wrote described his photographs to me in an email: “The first is a picture of Kimball Castle. The mountains here tell the story of New Hampshire history. One simply has to stop and listen. The second is a waterfall taken on the top of a mountain. It’s sound is the heartbeat of the mountain. A rhythm few people ever hear.”