I can see your damp body print in silhouette on the bath towel,
and the tooth marks you left on the tight cap of the new
toothpaste tube.
A couple of loose hairs lie tangled in the hairbrush.
Damp feet mopped up the light rain of last night’s dust
on the wood floors and apparently navigated
around littered baby toys
before turning left towards the what appears to be
a nesting area...
On hands and knees now, the light just right
I see the subtle depressions of your feet on the carpet,
the fibers slowly standing back
to their usual upright position.
Here, the tracks meet those of a much smaller creature.
I see ghosts of small lips and handprints
on the sliding glass mirror
and in it’s reflection,
a stuffed white rabbit,
over-loved and re-restitched,
wrapped in a blanket by small, uncoordinated fingers.
Drips of drying milk lead back to a feeding area
and the scattered remains of finger-painted oatmeal...
still luke-warm.
I trail the crumbs of cold pumpkin pie on the counter
to the well-worn “one minute” button on the microwave
which begins your morning ritual
with a digital “beep.”
I smell fresh coffee on a breeze from the west.
Hot on the trail,
I follow my intuition through a slightly swaying side door.
No less conspicuous than a stick snapped in the wilderness
silencing sparrows,
I hear the hum of a clothes dryer stop
with the creaking of its door.
Slowly I stalk,
fox walking,
hawk-eyed,
ears perked up like a deer,
into the garage and-
There I find you...
throwing a warm soft towel,
hot and fluffy from the dryer
over our daughter’s head...
our hysterically laughing coyote pup
with those five-toed muddy tracks that grow too quickly.
Funny that you should think it’s time for us to clean the house.
Month: January 2014
Sketching up Rattlesnake Canyon
I have recently discovered a new painting media that I am really enjoying: gouache and casein tempera. I find it a lot more portable than my oil paints, but it handles in a similar opaque way. I can fit tubes of paint and my sketchbook in a small daypack and go somewhere remote to do some painting without having to heave the french easel and oil stuff around. Here are some recent paintings up Rattlesnake Canyon…
Setting Traps
Setting Traps
What do the string around my finger,
the note in permanent ink fading on my hand,
the time-capsule buried in damp mulch
beneath the oak tree eight years ago,
the post it on my steering wheel,
and the alarm clock set to detonate at 5:30 am
have in common?
Why did I hide my car keys again?
...and where?
There is a freedom in forgetting
and a pirate thrill in digging up lost memories.
But most reminders tend to make me think,
remember,
plan,
in the everbusy buzzing of my mind.
More than ever, I need DE-minders, for when I’m lost up here
replanning and premembering
in nowhere land.
Do they sell daydream alarm clocks or watches that lie?
Sometimes I can be nothing but grateful
for bee stings,
stubbed toes,
seagulls with good aim,
and cold shivers:
things that wake me, unaware, from the cavern of routine.
Thank you, headache, for reminding me I have a head.
Tired of waiting for grace or luck
to bring me to the present,
I’ve mapped out my Monday blind spots,
hidden along my well-worn game trails
between the bathroom,
the computer,
the teapot...
And here I am setting traps for myself,
camouflaged in regularity and custom
to catch me in oblivion.
Won’t I be surprised
to find this bucket of ice water
suspended from the doorway
as I come into work tomorrow morning?
