it is slightly more sweater weather than ice cream weather but when else is going to be the perfect time to eat “Vermont’s Finest” Ben & Jerry’s than outside overlooking these green mountains?
summer
September 8, 2020
campfire
noun
a small fire at a campsite or in a yard, usually circular and often surrounded by stones or bricks
bonfire
noun
1) a large fire at an event or celebration
2) what the Farr/Twitchell household called our campfires
gas fire
noun
a confusing accoutrement that allows a fire to be maintained on a wooden deck for immediate morning enjoyment on a daily basis
see also: vacation bliss
September 7, 2020
when a small animal scratching from inside the walls
wakes you up like
your cat scratching at your apartment door
before six am
it is always a good idea to
heat up some coffee
and go outside with your kip and your dog
to watch the sun rise
(even if you can’t see the sun past the tree line)
what is it about
the rattle of an old farm house
basement heater
that makes me feel so
automatically
cozy?
September 6, 2020
a hummingbird knocked on our window this morning
and invited us with her to a fairy grove
we splashed in the icy cool creek waters
and slid up and down the hill valley roads
the dog was not so sure about the mini waterfalls
and i was not so sure about the steep decline
but before it gets too cold and snowy up here
it’s nice to call Vermont a two-week home.
July 7, half-heartedly edited July 21, 2020
On my rooftop I see:
1. a green tree across the street
2. a match to the folding chair under me
3. a pigeon, hopping on the next roof, its eyes as red as the
4. red brick apartment across the road
5. a treeline, it might be the park?
6. a metal fence, so I don’t fall off
7. this private rooftop terrace, that my privilege helped get me
8. satellite dishes from DirectTV
9. a/c units sticking out of 6th floor windows
10. clouds and a flash of what may be a rainbow
11. my rainbow hair blowing in the polluted wind
12. no sign nor sight of a way to make this poem end
13. sounds of busses, bodega music, wings flapping, construction; scents of the laundromat around the corner,
and wind, so much wind, against my face, feeling a chill on this hot New York afternoon, perhaps//
a loud boom, a bang, was it from the west or the east?
i strain my neck over the gate, and the only answer i see
is the smell of the garbage truck, stopped on my street.
i have so many unfinished poems written
but not the stomach to stomach the rereading.
July 21, 2020
last night there was a cockroach
poking its feelers out from it’s rooftop hideaway
and at night it caught me by the creeps
but today in the
afternoon brightness
complete with my coffee and sun hat
i’m not quite as creeped
and maybe that’s the lesson for today:
the despair from yesterday
can turn to creativity today
which maybe someday could develop into
flow[tomorrow]
June 25
in the morning
a downpour
hair soaked
from under a hood
in seconds as we
rush across the same street twice
trying to predict our Lyft driver’s
street familiarity
in the afternoon
too hot
for anyone’s comfort
(and we thought the rain would cool the city off)
in the evening
a hella-queer rooftop concert
as the sun sets
lavender
and
baby blue
over the NYC skyline
kipventures 