She was a PLAIN sort of gal, more likely to order a simple TONIC and lime (sometimes with a splash of gin, sometimes not). She wore DENIM well and with regularity, catching the eye of the astute passersby and ignored by the less perceptive. Those who knew her were a little in awe of her and called her the “GENIE of restaurant row.” She had earned this moniker with her remarkable ability to make magic for every restaurateur along the street into town, famous for its variety of eating establishments. Many a café, brasserie, or even diner, no matter their style, cuisine, or price point, had benefited from her magic.

Georg’ann

EXTRA person came to play
Entertained with her ukulele.
Soundtrack to the cloud show
slow motion on the big screen,
study in light, water, air.
Crystal CHIME reigned us back
from BINGE on sky drama.
Though GENIE is out of the bottle.

Heather

In the morning the merest TRACE will remain,
little bits of evidence, that WHILE the house
was still and quiet, I crept about like a little MOUSE.
A few toast crumbs on the counter, a used tea bag,
the cup still holding a few sips.
If you choose to see them, these clues will EVOKE
for you my restless night, my disrupted sleep,
while the heavy air and tang of OZONE
arrived before the storm.

Georg’ann

Oh DAISY, with reputation
for being fresh and delicate.
You, I would never choose
to GROUP in a garden bed.
No intrigue to your structure
Basic white petals to pluck
loves me loves me not.
No wafting scent of CLOVE.
Standing in perky oblivion
while OZONE settles in.

Heather

As the black-clad mourner tilts toward her, Christina struggles to maintain her balance in the close space. There is a TWEEN on one side and a gentleman on the other, so she does what she can to STALL for time and space. All in a flash, she manages to steady herself, the tilting elderly mourner, and not knock over the girl and the gentleman. “Are you okay?” she asks. A pale and PASTY white face looks up, encased in a black veil and hat, giving off a vibe both ARTSY and eccentric. “Yes, dear, I am fine,” the voice in a androgynous middle register, the speaker elderly, and strikingly beautiful.

Georg’ann

Awakened early
Truck brakes squeak
TRASH cans rumble
Tossed along the street
ARTSY urban scene

Heather

Standing in the field of my emotions, I am tempted to GRAZE at the edges, find small bite-sized bits to examine and integrate. I feel wary (and weary) of efforts to WEAVE the big feelings into a coherent whole. Won’t any effort to do so lead me on an endless CHASE for the impossible – turning me into an enlightened whole? That seems like more than I can do in this lifetime. That seems like something for my betters – you know, saints and geniuses and bodhisattvas, all things I am decidedly not. I am willing to dig in here and there, take my SPADE to isolated parts of this wild field. Maybe I can clear one single space and make a pretty spot in which to rest, sheltered amid a SPATE of my own emotions.

Georg’ann

Eyes GLIDE across the page.
Not reading so much
as a moving STARE.
SKATE over other’s thoughts
not engaging what I open.
Each morning brings a SPATE
of opinions, prose, poetry.

Some days it’s enough
to enjoy the chorus
of birdsong without striving
to identify an individual species.

Heather

DRAWN butter, rich and golden
On the table, little drips
create a TACKY PATCH.
Child’s finger dips into
cup of warm liquid,
too tempting to resist.
She offers kitten a taste and
giggles erupt at the result.

Georg’ann

No inclination
to RAISE chickens,
plant a PATCH
of this and that.
Hard work wrapped
in romantic notions.

Heather

The server said yes, she had heard the music too and supposed it was a funeral, over at the church. But she was new to the area and didn’t know much more. Yes, she confirmed, the church is indeed within walking distance. So Christina took a last bite of the deliciousness before her, settled her bill. She followed the sound of the mournful tune, surprised as it turned into a beautiful song. The voice now singing clutched a bit at her heart, stirring a memory of some sort. Walking towards the source, she turns a corner, and there is the church. A crowd in front, mourners, and a few stray people on the side. Christina joins those on the side, adopting an appropriately somber look. She catches snippets of conversation: “…would be so PROUD,” “hearing of this… SONIC boom,” “grew an unusual lily, … member of the ONION family.” The words swirled around her, not making a coherent whole. It feels a little like she’s prying, like looking over someone’s shoulder and trying to read their INBOX. She is about to go when someone stumbles, and she instinctively puts a hand out to catch them.

Georg’ann

Sushi held, we didn’t.

Centers of beet, carrot, cucumber.
Magenta bleeding into WHITE rice
held with dark green border.
We shared a FLAIR for creating.

Could have been perfect
MINUS his desire for a child.
I already had a masterpiece,
nothing more to give from within.

Playtime ended. Companion gone.
Long missive found in my INBOX.
Years later his regrets. Childless.
Mine a grown woman.

Heather

On the OUTER edge of the town, she took a moment to RELAX and linger over a CREPE. The tearoom was charming, just the kind of place you expect to find anywhere with “SHIRE” in the name. Indeed, she felt a little like a traitor to tradition, having something French instead of a good English scone with local butter and clotted cream. Guilty as charged, she thought with a smile, licking some chocolate hazelnut spread off her fingers. Focused on what was in front of her, it took a moment before she realized that she was hearing what sounded like a DIRGE. It seemed to be coming from not too far away. Catching the server’s eye, she motioned her over. This simple act was about to change the trajectory of not just Christina’s vacation but also a significant part of the next two years.

Georg’ann

Give EXTRA attention
color and form COVER
bare dirt canvas.
My favorite moment-
peachy pink columbine
with buttery centers rise
behind the speckled leaves
and periwinkle blues
of the Jack Frost Brunnera.
Soon rain will RINSE
stepping stones, tuck in
the newly planted.
Alleluia praise song rises
only from today’s DIRGE.

Heather

Such a WASTE, they said, as they STOOD by her grave.

Georg’ann

Your LAUGH soothes my spirit.
Letting go all POISE,
snorts and tears clear congestion.
On my SMOCK coffee spray.

Unlike the SNOWY night
when we STOOD side by side
catching snowflakes on tongues
and eyelashes. Delicate delight.
Lyrical laughter landing softly.

Heather

It was a bit of a DRIVE, but the dessert simply couldn’t be prepared without getting more FLOUR. We had been at the cottage for less than 6 hours. In the country for slightly longer than that. I sighed. “Hey, do you mind if we run to the store? I know it was hard getting here, and even harder to go out now, but i really can’t finish what I am doing without it. And there are probably other things we should get.” You give me a jet-lagged look. “Please??” You nod, grab the keys. We get in the rental car. “Watch out! Do you see that truck??” I hear you sigh. “LORRY.” “Excuse me?” “They don’t call them trucks over here. They are lorries.” “Huh. Sounds fancy. Or maybe like a parakeet, you know, those at the zoo. Lorikeets.” This elicits silence. And then, laughter. Then I start, and there we are, weaving down some narrow English country road, giggling about silly words, while trying to get supplies so I could make a cake that we didn’t really need, but seemed important, because what is vacation for if not to do ridiculous things and have adventures? I suppose the MORAL of that story is that sometimes the stressful moments produce unexpected joys.

Georg’ann

Government was WRONG.
COURT rules go all directions
none affect outcome.
Best BOXER can’t land a punch.
ROYAL screwups, no matter.
Lowest rungs of humanity
operating, no MORAL compass.

Heather

WHITE sheets on the line —
They dance and wave on the breeze
Carry them in and bring the FRESH air along
Bedtime will come and sleepy child
HONES in on the smell, a sense of
place and belonging that
will last until she is an ASHEN heap
scattered on those same bright breezes

Georg’ann

Oh my friend, what would I tell
of this MONTH, blending
seamlessly from last to next.
Arbitrary to call these days
a collection. Fast the slog.
No heralding. No sad goodbye.
Though the sun was recently warm.
Black garden cat sat on stone,
glorious SHINE to his coat.
My own skin ASHEN.

Heather

TOUGH skin on the mango
a protective covering
no way to catch a glimpse inside
touch and smell my only guides
Its yellow skin, enticing
I buy two mangoes
yearning for a way into
summer’s abundance
or, at LEAST, expand our options

Home, on the kitchen counter
they sit – these reminders
that sunny, exotic places do EXIST
far from our tentative spring
where waves CREST and crash
on tropical shores

Georg’ann

PAUSE cherry blossom
explosion of pink
FRESH dirt receives
your molted CREST

Heather

I FLOAT in possibilities:
the day seems LARGE and spacious.
I pick up goals and put them away;
ponder responsibilities and weigh them.
Perhaps this is a day made
to LAUGH and play; time enough
for work tomorrow.

Georg’ann

Morning mishap accepted
Origin for what I mean.
Porous comes from PORUS
Coming from is not
the same as being.

FUDGE!

What wants to be written
about tiny holes,
pits in sense organs
related to insects?

LAUGH!

Could exercise sleepy brain.
Pull in elements of nature,
of emotional state. Craft
myself as an iridescent beetle.
Potential there. Oh yes.
Right now senses want coffee.

Heather

I have BLOWN all my money on the PAINT. It has touched a NERVE in our relationship. Today will be spent trying to NURSE and cajole us back into equilibrium.

Georg’ann

SCALE thrown off balance
HOUSE needs maintenance
Eat cookies, NURSE wounds

Heather

Careful not to get anything on her DENIM at the START of the party, Sheila moved over to the ARBOR. From underneath the drooping wisteria, she looked over at Kylie, eyes focused intently. Kylie looked up, feeling Sheila looking at her, as surely as if an ARROW had been launched in her direction.

Georg’ann

Maeve climbed the rickety staircase at the back of a plain house off Kirkwood, heading up to an audition for some budget film being shot in the summer. Trying out was, for her, an audacious decision. Giddy confidence gave a certain buoyancy to her gait. There was no expectation and nothing to lose.

Later she’d look back and wonder about her judgement, going alone to a strange apartment where she was filmed by a man as he asked her questions about friendship and loss. That was how it always was for Maeve. She had an uncanny sense of personal safety.

In the end she was given a part as an EXTRA. Maeve’s onscreen presence showed her sitting alone on a park bench, knitting a SCARF. The brief shot was framed within a rose covered ARBOR. In the next scene a child runs by with a toy bow and ARROW. MAEVE looks up. Her head turns, as she and the camera follow the boy running exuberantly. Contrasting with the somber mood set before.

Heather

The soapy water works its magic, and things that were stuck begin to soften. I lift the next set of dishes into the sink. Remnants of food STICK to the PLATE like so much abstract art. I lazily scrub, enjoying the slippery suds and feel of the sharp forks, dull knives, and wide plates. It’s nice to be old-fashioned, not running a MOTOR or using electricity. I pick up the next plate, pushing the TROUT bones and skin into the trash. I hear through the window the roar of a lawn mower, the contrast to my quiet occupation as sharp as if a fleet of airplanes had started up, TURBO engines going full throttle.

Georg’ann

ROUGH patches abound
PROUD of efforts, many
moments, overlapping
OUTER self greets each one
Fueled by TURBO charged heart
Inner self ready for collapse

Heather

I am struggling to find a way into these words. No THEME leaps out at me, no imagery emerges. I cannot even figure out a way to CHEAT my way in, though maybe I have, as I diligently type these words on my phone. I stop and stare at my last word, then my mind wanders as I contemplate a slice of hot buttered toast. Getting the bread knife, I unwrap the loaf of fresh cracked WHEAT bread, the result of weekend baking, my mouth watering in anticipation.

Georg’ann

Craggy rock man rolls
cigarette. LANKY body
tan and leathery. Listening
to stories, my eyes
TRACE laugh lines,
patterns in stone behind.
Wiry hair, silver and WHEAT,
halos his warm face.

Heather

Trying not to SWEAR
Much better to SHARE
Stay out of the SNARE
I have time to SPARE

Georg’ann

FOUND a way to SPEAK
painful truths with care.
Then give SPACE for hearing.
Not always graceful, of course.
When done poorly
not a SPARE moment.
All consuming the effort
to find a gentle path back.

Heather

The SNAKE in the wild does not rise EARLY
The chill of the dawn keeps it hidden
But not so with the human viper
Our villains can rise with the sun
Brush off a suit, adjust a LAPEL, tighten a tie
Oh, so dapper, so suave, so debonaire
Yet still lurking in unexpected places
Behind a GAVEL or an executive desk
Not always in the dark, impoverished spaces
HAZEL eyes gleam out, coiled threat
Evident in every stance or move ”

Georg’ann

Cookies in the freezer,
on the counter cinnamon rolls.
EXTRA sweets from our weekend.
Today the sun returns, robins too.
Working to see abundance
as a new LEASE with life.
Instead feel nausea.
Sugar and shine only go so far
in times this BLEAK.
Known to be AGILE, steady
in extremes. Find center.
Store goodness like a CAMEL.
HAZEL eyes hold sorrow
while they watch this robin
tidy her nest. Beak holds
a slender dried grass.
Tucked into woven twigs
she waits for new life.

Heather

Feeling like they were being asked to TITHE, the weekend guests had to hand over their practical outdoorsy attire and replace it all with SILKY and swanky clothes. Their host, Alfred, insisted that everyone join in an elaborate role-playing game. The VILLA was the perfect place for it, and everyone loved Alfie and his cleverness. Nevermind that their teeth would chatter and that going out in the wet, chilly spring weather would be difficult. It would be a wild lark and that was all that mattered.

Georg’ann

Eva at three

Plastic pink high heels
a tiara nestled in ringlets
strands of plastic beads
soft pink apron over ruffles
gracious royalty greeting
neighbors with FLAIR
ALIVE with a sense of worth
subjects accepted assessment
all agreed it to be VALID
especially the servants
residing within her VILLA

Heather

Good grief. Why is it always so hard to find SPACE in this cabinet? It doesn’t need to be a lot of room. Just an area where I can put things. Sometimes, I wish for a fresh start, like a BLANK piece of paper where we can start over, where it would be easier to be orderly. I realize that we each have our habits, that thing we like to, if not HOARD, exactly, then have a backup supply of. I look at the stash of bandaids, the multiple tubes of antibiotic cream, and variously scented lotions. I turn my head and look over at the bag of sundries picked up from the drugstore. Turning back to the cabinet, my eyes land on the assorted cans of FOAMY shaving cream. Okay, I will start with these. Turning up my playlist, I settle in for a refreshing session of “clean out the bathroom cabinet.”

Georg’ann

Sandtray Training, 4/4/25

Little girl figure carrying
her HEART in hands
stands on the edge
not ready to enter.

Through silence,
taut with care
we cut her SLACK.
No urging to resolve.
Or encourage movement.

Entry comes, steps into center.
Finds shelter in the arch
of a FOAMY wave.

Heather

She stood at the lectern,
bad news she had to share:
“Let me be FRANK, our
oceans are BROKE almost
beyond repair. We threaten
the KRILL, a vital piece
of the food chain.”
I listen, and I remember:
“for want of a nail,
the shoe was lost…”

Georg’ann

At the end of the day
what was most wanted
was rest, a hot shower, mind off.
Then Bonnie made a request.
Will you make clementine cake?
It’s so MOIST. In my travel here
I remembered it, longed for it.

So I ALIGN my evening to please.
Tomorrow they will BUILD.
Psyches at work, a process
that can be as if put on the GRILL.
This sweetness I can provide.
Nourishing with citrus and nuts,
bright egg yolk golden yellow.
Contrast to these April showers.

Imagine us as KRILL, infinitesimal
in the vast sea of creation.
Pecking away, bit by bit,
unaware of our place in the chain.
Not ready to be swallowed.

Heather

It has been a long time since I handled fabric with an eye to creating something. Unearthing a box of neglected, undone, or half-finished projects pulls me back to that world. Amazing how SWIFT the return to the memories. I remember how the process would begin: an idea, followed by a wandering in a fabric store. It’s such a physical experience – touching and looking, freeing the mind to wander. Holding, picking up — feeling for drape, weight, looking at color. I would consider what SPOOL of thread I might have in a drawer, if there might be a match waiting to be selected. Taking bolts of fabric to the table, putting them next to each other, considering accents and trims. I think about the parallels to cooking, how like a chef deciding what SAUCE will best draw out the flavors of a dish. I too would look to pick colors and textures that would draw out hidden qualities of the main fabric. Perhaps I should SNEAK out to a fabric store so I can reimmerse myself in this world, rehear the sound of the clerks as they use their forever sharp scissors to SHEAR off pieces of visions and dreams.

Georg’ann

There was a SPACE inside
the forsythia branches 
a completely secluded hideaway.
Heidi and I would SNEAK away, 
STEAL some snacks on the way. 
Inside we’d make potions 
with weeds and water. SMEAR
slimy interior of dandelion stems
across the bottom of our frisbee
come Petri dish. Scientists. 
Once we switched it up, playing
hairdresser. Dolls and ourselves 
got quite a SHEAR. It didn’t occur
that we should fear leaving 
the security of our woody shelter. 

Heather

My dragon tree carries a NOBLE, if unusual, SHAPE. Its limbs are spare; they twist and twine. When I got it, an inheritance from a friend, it made me sad. Its appearance seemed TERSE, as if a CURSE had been put on it years before. Not willing to give up on it, I tended it carefully. Responding to this care, it has begun to flourish. It has grown more beautiful with increasing numbers of long, thin fronds that are deepening in color. Now, it seems worthy of its name, like a ancient dragon, ready to dispense wisdom to those who will listen.

Georg’ann

Large purple potter’s BENCH
standing by the Christmas tree.
Made in secret, carried in alone.
Always the SCOPE of your holiday
efforts were CAUSE for undoing
an old CURSE barring celebration.

That first tree you sneaked
into my apartment while
I was at class. Floor to ceiling.
The time you swooped me
away from them,
drove us twelve hours to the sea.
Once a full set of dishes in Easter
pastels, a basket weave pattern.
An eve of takeout Chinese on a blanket
under twinkle light and pine bough.

Year after year your elixir entered,
making me once again the child
at my paternal grandparents
peaking through the cracks
waiting for the doors to open
into the splendor of tree, pretty
packages, the stuffed giraffe
taller than me. Cookies iced,
accented with elegant silver balls.
Laughter of cousins. Singing.
She who was filled with magic.

It was the last holiday.
Then we left the kingdom.
My mother and I traveling far
with nothing but two satchels.
She attempted, unsuccessfully,
to escape her fate. We wandered
dark woods. I met the woodsman.
He gave me a tree.

Heather

WEARY to the bone,
stretching out on the couch,
socks on my feet,
pillow BELOW my head,
I review memories of the day,
treasures of the mind,
each a precious JEWEL.

Georg’ann

Magnolia blossoms flutter
RAISE yard to an EVENT space.
From window seats, we watch
our crowning JEWEL.

Heather

Sky PLAIN and gray
STORM brewing
Praying for gentle rain
I invoke deities with
A random QUOTE or two
Then notice as a robin
Shakes from its head to
Its BOOTY, and all is well

Georg’ann

Swimming in a liquid forest.
CLEAR water to explore.
Sitting at the table,
MOUTH wants something.
Dream strikes me as LOFTY.
Snacking on Pirate BOOTY
salty puffed corn kinda lowly.
I am in perfect balance.

Heather

She was, despite it all, tonight feeling of pretty darn good CHEER. Admittedly, there was much that could SPOIL it all and throw her back into a MOODY, despairing cycle again. But, no, not today. Today was for recognizing some good things, nodding to her growing community and celebrating those connections. People she had KNOWN for years were now showing up and engaging to make things better. It feels good to work together to push back against the horrible things. And it’s ABOUT time this started happening. She is clear that she hasn’t even reached her QUOTA of connecting yet — oh yes, she thought, we are the river, and we don’t need to be the dam. We are getting organized for real, and things will change for the better.

Georg’ann

She prepared the GUEST room.
Lotion, calming pillow
scent to spray, if desired,
into softest sheets.
First spring TULIP, yellow,
in a vase by the bedside.
QUART of fresh farm milk
for morning granola
and afternoon tea.
Kindness always replenishing.
No QUOTA being filled.

Heather

I can be clear and SOLID in my feelings, and yet hold space for regrets. To say “I’m SORRY” does not always convey the complexity of my experience.

Georg’ann

BOUND to regret
if I bring you in home.
Raise you from stray
turning into family.
ROYAL black princess
emerald eyes, velvet coat.
Another kitty love STORY.
Try to seal my heart.
Not let it be captured.
Whisper “Goodnight,
I’m SORRY”.

Heather

“BOAST if you will, child, but you still need to PRESS the clothes. And there they lie, soapy and in need of a RINSE. Oh, I CURSE the day I married your father!” So saying the wicked stepmother turned away and flounced out of the room. Observing this performance, our heroine continued on with her drudgery. This Cinderella, though, had a secret: she kept herself sane and hopeful by recording her experiences in VERSE. This exercise kept her mind nimble, making her feel both productive and smug. She knew the time would come when these words of hers would prove a valuable weapon and a way out of her situation.

Georg’ann

Rebuilt what was BURNT
Didn’t PARSE contributing embers
Singing new VERSE

Heather

A FINAL attempt
to REPOT, a SHEET of dirt
Mama’s treasured plants

Georg’ann

Hours of preparation,
fingers crossed
for a FLUID presentation.
TRACE the arc, this is
a STEEP learning curve.
Teaching a new way of being.
Not easily translated
to a cheat SHEET.
Invitation to personal experience
allowing for aha moments.
Still the uncertain seek tangible
formula, don’t trust this realm.
They want linear cognition.
I offer tangential intuition.

Heather

It seemed a simple matter
to AVAIL oneself of a
BLEND of luck and diligence —
to bend an ELBOW,
put a nose to a grindstone,
and seize an opportunity.
And yet, she found it
required more discernment
than she expected.

Georg’ann

Brain is not QUIET.
Rare the SPARE moment
to dip BELOW the noise
and ponder a fleeting image
of that huge maple tree
with its giant ELBOW resting
on the roof of someone’s porch
as if it were a table.
Massive yet so gently leaning.

Heather

The orchid is finally blooming, in striking shades of MAUVE and deepest purple. It looks like it should have a SCENT, but it does not. I nurtured it, repotted it, and took the time to SWEEP away the mealy bugs that have plagued it. I have been careful not to break or damage the flowering spike when at last it appeared. The buds took their time to appear and to open, each one a tight curved SHELL. I struggled to find a SHELF for it to display its rich beauty. I finally settled on a spot next to a white orchid, their blooms arcing over the fronds of the ponytail palm, my own personal jungle.

Georg’ann

Silent child, expressive face
refuses to speak ALOUD.
Glues buttons on paper.
Quizzical look as we hear
the microwave ding
from the next room. Scent
of Ashley’s CHILI comes
through the door.
He rises from his art, glances
at me before taking a SHELL
off the SHELF. Places it in sand,
returns to resume his creation.

Heather

The idea flew through my head like a COMET, fleeting and rare. It seemed that I could almost claim to have HEARD the words, a start to a new ESSAY, something brilliant, no doubt. Ah, so NAIVE of me to think that this is how writing works, a flash followed by words pouring out. I shift my position, tucking my ANKLE up under me. Thoughtful, I chew on the end of my favorite pen, moving the paper to a more satisfying ANGLE in front of me. No, I realize that drafts and rewrites, and maybe the help of a good editor, are key to writing.

Georg’ann

You’d think getting it in 2 would make it easy. Yet they are the kind of words that could go in so many directions. Exhausted me with all their running around in my brain from this snippet to that one. Their, “oh wait, what about that one there on the outskirts?” No energy to follow any thread to fruition.

Bored.

At this STAGE, I’m giving up. No ANGLE here to take me by the hand and guide me along.

Heather

With QUIET concentration
the BAKER bends over her cookies.
SHEEP, bunnies, tulips, eggs:
all shapes to signify spring.
Wobbles of the arm,
hesitations mar aim.
Now a few MOPEY bunnies
keep a couple of DOPEY
lambs company,
all on the “free samples” plate!

Georg’ann

SWIFT REACH
Fast fall
Glass shatters
Don GLOVES
Clear shards.

This morning
which dwarf?
Part Sleepy
Part Grumpy
Part DOPEY
Not Happy.

Heather

Chipmunks CLAIM space
Compete with squirrels under MAPLE
Crows AMBLE and strut

Georg’ann

Everything so SWIFT. Always
frenzy. Swooping, pecking,
fluttering. Constant motion
like this morning’s scene
at the bird feeder.
Discordant. Lacking CHARM.
Free for all under the MAPLE.

I relate more to the solitary cat.
Taking her morning AMBLE,
silently enters the garden.
Winding her way to seclusion,
curling up for a nap.
Almost completely hidden
under the soft, low
branches of the hinoki.

Heather

Ready to CLIMB into bed, I STARE for a moment more at my PHONE. I miss having a cat to NUDGE at my elbow.

Georg’ann

GUSTY wind, branch falls
More might, hard to JUDGE.
NUDGE taken, will be cautious.

Heather

Family Feast

A LABOR of love: prepping
the roast in the BASIN,
following a treasured recipe,
BASED on those of the elders.
Preparing for hours of roasting, we
will lovingly BASTE and tend.
Sides and salads, pies and cakes,
but all cede pride of place to the big roast.
Filling bellies and souls, all at one go,
holding us all together in love,
around the family table.

Georg’ann

Last night senses shift
after the first spring rain.
FRESH earthy scent allures.
In PLACE of purity, clouds
carry fertility. Earth and sky,
intertwined. Raindrops
land brown, speckle my car.
Air thick with possibility.

Inside an urge to cook, finish
winter staples make room
for something new. ANISE
flavors the SAUCE, warming
with her telltale TASTE –
a hint of licorice, unexpected.

Deer nuzzle one another
on their way to the bird feeder.
Lay WASTE to what wasn’t theirs.
Brown bunny nestles into woody
nest under the Carolina Spicebush
Soft fur juxtaposed with sharp twigs.

Evening gives way to night.
Grey clouds blanket the stars.
Pulling out thread, quilter begins
to BASTE the day onto fabric.
Entering and exiting like breath.

Heather