World Aids Day —
hopes for a vaccine
rise with our prayers

The Past Is Prologue

We don't have to imagine what will happen if Trump detains and/or deports huge numbers of illegal immigrants as he has repeatedly said he plans to do.

Twelve years ago, on the heels of some state-wide restrictions on migrant labor, reported Julie Strupp wrote a great piece in MIC:

"We need to face the facts: our agricultural industry is built on illegal labor, and it needs to be reformed."

Read the full article here (it's not long)!

(HT: Flynn Talwar)

holiday baking —
folding in some music
along with the eggs

a good soaking rain —
on the long row home our boats
fill up with water

Thanksgiving prep —
scrubbing root vegetables 'til
the water runs clear

colors that remain
call out more insistently —
tiny purple berries

now the bees give up
on finding any pollen —
this will have to do

withered reeds —
the marsh draws in on itself
its mud crazed with cracks

ruby crowned kinglet —
so light that the branches
don't even bend

Weekend Reading from Kelly Hayes

"Defiance must be woven into the fabric of our daily lives, rather than simply proclaimed at marches or on social media."

Collective Survival, Adaption, and Direct Action

(from Kelly Hayes' Organizing My Thoughts)

a long soaking rain —
the places that were once soft
begin their comeback

rain at long last —
strangers finding common ground
in "we needed this"

all this fiddling with
my internal thermostat —
sweaters on the floor

my best friend's birthday —
we longingly look for 
a chance to meet up

watching for bats
as the sun hurries down
to check on Europe

Protect the Press

Call Senators re: the PRESS Act

(HT Celeste Pewter, Greg Pak, Senator Wyden)

We need the press. We need them to be investigators, not stenographers. And we need to protect them so that they can keep digging.

(Read more on the PRESS Act here.)

Do you have the phone numbers of your Senators in your contacts yet?

Here's a handy link that can tell you who your elected officials are at the local, state, and federal level: https://myreps.datamade.us

Unrelated:

Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, the two Georgia poll workers defamed by Rudolph W. Giuliani after the 2020 election, received his watch collection, a ring and his vintage Mercedes-Benz last Friday.

before the song starts
the sound of an indrawn breath —
I join the Earth's choir

unprecedented —
even just hearing the word
adds to my exhaustion

Weekend Reading from Andrea Pitzer

"Authoritarians aim to destroy the social fabric and to isolate individuals. Anything you do to counter that is good work. We may or may not see heroes in our time, but we can be sure that the most vital work will done on a smaller scale day in and day out by regular people."

Read Andrea Pitzer's excellent full piece, Swept Into The Flood, here:

https://degenerateart.beehiiv.com/p/swept-into-the-flood

cool evening air
with a full moon presiding —
no crickets left to sing

Yet

when the glass has slipped
from your hand but it still
hasn't hit the ground

Don't Roll Over

Sherrilyn Ifill (former President. & Director-Counsel, NAACP Legal Defense & Educational Fund) says, 

"Don’t throw in the towel. Rest, then call your Senator - Dem & Repub. Tell them you expect them to do their constitutional duty and have real confirmation review & hearings for Gaetz, Hegseth, Gabbard & all cabinet nominees. Don’t let your Senators give their power to Trump w/o a fight." 

Here's a clip: https://bsky.app/profile/sifill.bsky.social/post/3laxiugfhik2j

The Capital Switchboard's number is 202-224-3121. To look up your representatives' contact information, try this handy little tool: https://myreps.datamade.us

Put your Senators' and Representative's DC office numbers in your phone. Then add them to your favorites. Consider moving from a default position of never calling them to a default position of calling them all the time.

Unrelated mic drop:

hoarfrost on windows —
for the first time this season
I warm up my drink

Protect Your Peace - So You Can Engage

Dear friends and loved ones,

How are you holding up? It's a lot, right? A highlight of yesterday for me was the somewhat surprising and thoroughly satisfying defeat of H.R. 9495 in the US House of Representatives. This was a bill which could have allowed Trump's Treasury Dept to unilaterally revoke tax-exempt status from non-profits it deems as "supporting terrorism." The bill needed a two-thirds affirmative vote to pass, and it didn't get it, perhaps in part because a slew of folks (myself included) called their elected representatives to weigh in. Trump can and does ignore public opinion, but at some level he'll be a lame duck for his entire second term, whereas our elected representatives still need to be thinking about how they'll stay in power, so...

Another highlight for me yesterday was this excerpt from an interview with award-winning Chicago-based investigative journalist Jamie Kalven:

"With this election, we’ve joined the rest of the world. Think of all the other nations that live under moronic, venal leadership. There are models for honorable political lives in those circumstances, but those models are quite different from our dominant notions of citizenship in which we follow politics as a spectator sport and occasionally vote. All over the world there are people in repressive settings who find ways to live as free human beings, act in solidarity with their neighbors, and fashion strategies to resist state power. We’re going to need to get good at practicing that kind of politics.

One of the dangers is that people will instead become demoralized and retreat into denial, that they will seek refuge amid the pleasures and fulfillments of private life. That would give carte blanche to power. There was a term used in central Europe to describe those who opted to retreat into private life under totalitarianism. They were called “internal emigres.” That is certainly tempting at a time like this: to live one’s life in the wholly private realm, enjoying the company of friends, good food and drink, the pleasures of literature and music, and so on. Privileged sectors of our society are already heavily skewed that way. It’s a real danger at a time like this. If we withdraw from public engagement now, we aid and abet that which we deplore."

I hope you will stay engaged, or prepare to be engaged.

Thanks for listening.

in peace,

Shelley

my best friend shows me
how to weave gingko leaves
into my hair

mourning doves
trying to remember
how to celebrate

rain at last —
I let myself get lost
in the sound of it

before the berries,
the sharply pointed leaves —
holly trees in fall

I watch the fox
until only its ears show
two points in the grass

electrical fence —
no one seems to be reading
my warning sign

foreboding

Batsto Lake

on an oddly warm fall day —

not a bird in sight

going to sleep
knowing that it will be dread
that awakens me

wired and tired —
we all compare notes on
how we'll get through it

we carry bath water
out to our ironwood tree —
seven weeks of drought

rain for a minute —
around us the sound of trees
getting their hopes up

deeper every day —
our Jack-o-Lantern sinks
back into the earth

four of King Henry's
six wives appear at the door —
Hallowe'en treats

my old hair color 
returned to me 
in a spray can

we see what we look for —
my mind fills in a bird where
there's only a leaf

cozy blanket —
I wake up to the sound 
of the heat coming on

the stag and I enter
a staring competition —
I need some antlers

when we gave up
and sat on a fallen log
the birds came to us

seven weeks of drought —
the stony bed of the creek
comes up for air

letting go at last —
the orchid I've been tending
on its own timeline

warm weather surprise —
the tickle on my hand
becomes a ladybug

we leave the leaves
in the yard where they belong —
blankets for the roots

after the game —
sore throats from yelling
as if they could hear

sugar maples
on fire in this
late afternoon sun

late night fight —
territorial foxes
yelling back and forth

another clear night —
a great blue heron flies
low over the lake

three years later
we can still see the scars
left by the cicadas

raccoons in the park
foraging for fallen pears —
near-full hunter moon

four new tires —
I take the corners faster
just to feel the grip

half the leaves down now —
we put our coats on hooks
where we can grab them

neighborhood potluck —
the big kids keep the small kids
out of trouble mostly

through the long morning
I stopped and sang to children
pocketing their smiles

old leather jacket —
National Coming Out Day
but everyone already knows

kids in strollers
holding leaves in their fists —
flags of autumn

Sarasota plan —
my cousin puts a crowbar
in the attic

first quarter moon —
a hurricane's shadow
crosses my heart

one of my students
came down with a high fever —
glad I'm still masking

up late on Sunday
even when we know better —
yawning in the forecast

small brown sidewalk leaf —
when is the last time
I saw a toad?

lying still enough
that the vultures slow down
for a second look

in between stars
I think I hear an old song —
protect each other

listening for crickets
before I close the curtains
for the night

pumpkin season —
the moose of Alaska
enjoy their new snacks

I change my route home
so it crosses the fox's —
knowing where to look

our fifth kind of aster —
tiny calico blossoms
crowd-source their sunshine

water in places
that have never seen water —
no way out, no plans

humid morning air —
geese under the bridge startle
as I run over

retirement savings —
finally getting smaller
after all those years

I've lost the cricket
that snuck in with the paper —
I wish it would sing

cool mornings at last —
every fallen branch looking
like a walking stick

skunk scented air —
the farm stand takes down its signs
one crop at a time

on the edge of drought —
the doe tucks her fawns in
with stories of rain

waning full moon
as we head towards autumn —
let me watch you sleep

pollinators
making a cheerleader
out of me

scuffing through leaves —
I kick myself all the way back
to childhood

nearing confluence,
announcing their intention —
geese on the move

I counted six bees
on the goldenrod today —
or maybe three, twice

resisting autumn —
I leave my socks
in their drawer

imagining the job:
holding doors open
as our children choose

the smaller the sweeter
purple fingers telling tales —
wild blueberries

kitchen cactus —
to truly show it love
we leave it alone

freshly squeezed lemon —
I find the nicks in my skin
by the stinging

we stayed still so long
the goldfinches forgot us
coming close after all

bats all up under
the patio umbrella 
'bout to make their move

turning over stones
nestled in the creek bed —
brief, tiny whirlpools

egrets and great blues
each making claims on their own
section of shoreline

young praying mantis —
we check each other out
as the world slows down

day by day
more sunlight captured
by the goldenrod

late summer sunshine —
lavender pods just out here
asking to be crushed

I trace your route
and trust it will bring you
back home to me

Birth Story

he asks one more time

about the pain; I tell him

that wasn't the point

early fall due date —
I spend the summer swimming,
practicing breathing

summer's end —
it seems that no one has told
our zinnias

untranslatable —

the spirit of happy welcome

that comes with osiyo

sweet corn season —
happy for the trouble
of peeling back silk

seeking safety —
sparrows checking overhead
in between sips

oaks full of acorns 
just starting to think
about letting go

sitting still
while the river rushes on
as if I have a say

the baby yawns —
we let ourselves remember
how tired we are, too

local flooding —
a bumblebee pulls itself
to the puddle's edge

crickets calls
in between folk songs —
late summer concert

crickets calls
in between folk songs —
late summer concert

skinned knee

taking me all the way back

to third grade

 

the wind kicks up
a memory of my father
trimming our boat's sails

knowing as I fell
that I could roll into it
that it could have been worse

full moon here with me
somehow the same moon that pulls
far away you

carried to shore
by a wave I never saw —
sand still in my scalp

Disneyland all day —
permission to be a kid
shining from every face

Brazilian steakhouse —
so much meat we didn't
even have dessert

willets gliding in
wings flashing white in descent —
the last time today

we warn the fox
to stay off the road
right before it crosses

fledglings tuckered out
from a long day of learning
how their songs go

we will not dry these,
make tea from them, or a poultice —
they're just for today

filling our small home
with the smell of baking bread —
a day well begun

find yourself 
a three year-old who will run
right into your arms

(for E.E.)

old trees in decline  —
each day between the branches
we see more sky

another storm
another limb —
the old tree lets go

pulling our flag
back down off the roof —
hurricane season

walking home at night —
I wait under the linden
until my eyes adjust

we sleep in again
and let the grass grow long —
holding onto summer

the fox slips away —
almost immediately 
we doubt our own eyes

edges curling in —
evidence of the heat wave
in these yellow leaves

closing my eyes
to better hear hooves drumming
on the polo grounds

dolphins and surfers
breaking free of the ocean
just to dive back in

hot days stretched out
so far they can't hold their shape —
we sit stuck to the couch

four drops of rain
thrown sideways from a cloud
that kept it moving

hot summer nights —
we drive into the mountains
chasing cooler air

after-image —
most days it's the fox I see
pausing to look back

corn on the cob —
the stand at the field's edge
piled high with treasure

we move the small hill
made from last year's fallen tree
one shovel at a time

cloudy day swim —
a five year-old asks her mom
where's the sunny spot?

taking out the trash
after choosing a new fighter —
more spring in my step

when did cicadas
become the loudest voice?
(late night summer choir)

waking up tired —
come sit next to me and breathe
be my calm center

mosquito morning —

a fast-flying hummingbird

adds to the buzz

 

full moon with crickets —
our half-eaten garden flowers
plan to try again

sage in summer —
I run my fingers through it
to bring the scent with me

the sound of the wind
translated into scratches —
branch tips at the screen

squirrels with white tails —
reactions separating
visitors from locals

stand over the sink,
peach juice dripping down your arm —
let summer run out

trying to get close
enough to toast marshmallows —
bonfire s'mores

tornado warning —
the Midwesterners show us
how not to worry

waxing half moon —
giving my little sister
the bigger piece

talking to myself —
I fill in the blank spaces
of our missed call

traveling west —
the sun keeps us company
well past our evening meal

across the crowd
we nod in recognition —
the only two masking

twin fawns 
becoming triplets
at the edge of sight

waxing crescent moon
presiding over one more
hot cloudless night

slowing down
before and after the fox
runs back into the night

real fireflies —
reminding us that borders
are imaginary

startled into flight
trailing their wavering song —
brilliant goldfinches

early summer —
fledglings on low branches
still hoping to be fed

lured by the sound
of water in the bird bath —
finches taking turns

garden love —
when you know to bring water
before it's asked for

long hill coming up —
I like the feeling of my legs
getting ready

telling the saplings
they need to come up farther
away from the house

Olympic trials —
watching the athletes' faces
as the records fall

hot humid days
inviting us to make
the easy mistakes

backyard birthday —
the sun visits each of us
in turn

sing a quiet song
try to water tomatoes
back to life

fireflies unaware
that they're also attracting
humans

late night watering —
we try to give our garden
reason to hope

indigo bunting —
singing away as I try
to show you where to look

low tide by the pier
water running off the sand
out beyond forever

dangerous heat wave —
my mother promises to shop
while the sun is low

too much moonlight
for a good look at the stars —
still, we know they're there

Summer Solstice —
we reapply our sunscreen
and head back outside

removing "stranger"
as a possibility —
dykes waving back

adjusting to walking
wherever and however —
Provincetown in June

waxing gibbous moon —
fledgling tree swallows 
opening wide

memories and stars
(there used to be more fireflies)
brighter at the edges

battles everywhere —
we encircle the garden
with wire

Flag Day —
we count on our rainbow
to repel zealots

my hand lingers
under the faucet waiting
for winter's cold water

mid-June —
strawberries giving way
to fireflies