Drawing In

The summer is reaching its height of broiling temperatures. The pots of herbs are baking in the sun; caterpillars have eaten the rue down to just stems. Still, a weed or two pops up from some seed blown in by the wind or gathered unknowingly in the handfuls of soil.

In the heat, the mob of kangaroos bathes in dust and watches without concern as we tread through their exhibit. At the sheep station, the tank is filled with cool water and my sons splash their faces and hands. The sheep doze in the shadow of the barn. The native art shows a waterhole and the tracks of many creatures that drink. It is a different way of seeing, all of our footsteps mingling, creatures of the light, of the dark, and of the half-light of dusk and dawn.

I am gathering in-- plans, perfect cherry tomatoes, the lazy laughter echoing through the house-- before the routine of the school year is upon us again.

Celebrating Kansas

There's a poetry reading Friday at Radina's Coffeehouse to celebrate the opening of the conference of "Nation, Region, and Frontiers." I'll be reading, along with 10 other Kansas poets, some of which I know and others I'm looking forward to meeting.

Freecyle, Hometown Parades, and other wonders of the Modern World

I've just recently discovered Free-cycle. It's a system where you can find new homes for items you no longer need or want. Or find items you might need or want. It's a way to keep used, yet still useful, goods out of the landfill. There's over a thousand participants in my area alone. It's a good sign, I think.

We went to the parade tonight. We have lived in one place for awhile now it would seem. I actually knew people who were on the sidewalk with me. My neighbors drove by with a flat-bed of 4Hers all chanting and screaming and waving. I saw children I recognized from my sons' school and they've grown into teens while I've watched. These are tendrils, roots, fine as cornsilk.

I've been assigned an office which must make it official that I'm going to be teaching here in the fall. A small place, but mine, for now. I can move my books in on Monday.

Rain, Vines, and "The Wild Iris"

This is the summer for vines. The summer squash and the watermelon are racing to fill their spaces before the other invades. The rain has fallen enough that the garden is growing without help from the water hose: lupines, oregano, flat italian parsley, short stocky sunflowers, coral bells, redbell peppers, russian sage.

There is something satisfying about finishing all the little projects that I had left undone out of necessity: putting the closets to order, tidying the bookshelves, pulling weed, and harvesting my herbs.

We are playing chess. The pieces march across, are knocked down, and set up again. My son is learning strategy. It no longer matters who wins. This is success.

I am reading Louise Glück's "The Wild Iris." It is cool water from a spring-fed well.
Do we choose the world we live in?

***

From the Publisher's Desk

Not What I Expected: The Road from Womanhood to Motherhood,

ed. by Donya Currie and Hildie S. Block ISBN 0-931181-26-7 Due Fall 2006

An anthology of poetry, fiction, essays and artwork by Jody Bolz, Carole Burns, Grace Cavalieri, Christina Daub, Mary Doroshenk, Patricia Gray, Clarinda Harriss, Anne Hasselbrack, Jacqueline Jules, Mary Ann Larkin, Lyn Lifshin, Hilary Tham, Donna Vitucci, Mary-Sherman Willis, and tons more. (and me too!)

"A collection that is by turns heartening and harrowing, insightful and irreverent but, page after page, always honest. We don't remember our own birth, we can't reflect our own death, so the squawking arrival of parenthood and its glorious life tangle is our only true relationship with the cycle of creation. Here, in essays, poems and personal dispatches, is a sketch of that singular experience. The best thing you can say about book on birth? It delivers. And this one does."

--Geoff Boucher, Los Angeles Times

“I'm a father of seven and figured that by osmosis maybe I'd learned something about motherhood. But this book opened my eyes and my heart and made me realize how much I don't know and didn't understand. For me, Not What I Expected is a journey through the looking glass, to the other side of the miracle. Reading it is an experience that I will always treasure.”

--William Mckeen, Professor and Chair, University of Florida Department of Journalism. Author of Highway 6: A Father-and-Son Journey Through the Middle ofAmerica

This book, full of pathos and humor, explores every aspect of motherhood. The writers in this anthology take you on a ride to many unexpected places: from the terrifying terrain of losing a baby to the exaltation of a successful pregnancy against the odds. Here you'll find the blood and sweat and grit of parenthood, all the real secrets that nobody tells you before your baby is born.

--Jennifer Margulis, author of "Why Babies Do That" and "Toddler: Real-Life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love"

Explain "Enough"

When one set of goals is reached, how do you decide on the next plan of action?

***
In the summer heat, I have grown a prairie garden. Last summer, it was grass with mulberry shoots and a few thin wildflowers pushing their way towards the sun. Now, the bed is a procession of nodding blossoms and color. I do not know their names. There is no one to introduce us.

The dog and I walk across a salvaged piece of the real prairie. At the top-of-the-world, he leaps through the tall grasses, arching his back as if he is a dolphin breaking through into sunshine. The light glitters across his dark coat, his tounge lolls pink as a tropical shell.

I want to say "Please listen; stop shaking your head" but this is not what you've come for.
The papers criss-cross the table; no one wants to pick them up. I walk briskly from the air-conditioned room, through the double glass doors. What seemed wise once: cement pathways and cinder-block walls.

New PL For Fall

"Though I do think poetry has some relationship to reality."

-Donald Hall
The New Poet Laureate

Whew! That's a good sign-considering I've just finished writing a 29-page paper on the topic.

Have you read any of his poems written to Jane after her death? I saw the book recently but had to put it back; I don't think I'm ready to read such poems about cancer and the aftermath just yet.

Congratulations Mr. Hall. Enjoy the pears.