To the First of September, and: Tunnel, and: Friendship Circle

To the First of September

Even the rain is tired of raining on the white feral cat heavy again with kittens lumbering out from behind the crooked trash bins

and the grass out of breath was convinced you never would come oh herald of the right despair the boxes of dark have started to pile up on the porch

where the weeds are tired too of wrapping around themselves and the small of the bentwood rocker aches across each reed of its caning

but still I will leave on the light for your moths and set out a pan for your first oak petals to collect in but lock nothing out of pity for your hoodlum wind

Tunnel

She was only along for the ride with her husband her Angel picking up family she was tired after her long day waitressing he had already rubbed her sore feet she was in her pajamas snuggled against one end of the brand new sofa asking herself what shows were on tell me what changed her mind what made Angel stop insisting she get some sleep did she throw her housedress over her head put on new makeup match her lipstick with the roses around the neck and hem tell me then did she kiss their cat check her cell phone were they laughing as Angel backed down the steep one-way she still frowsy and yawning did they touch now and then heading east

did she flick on the radio tell me did she wish she had made herself tea sat alone in the small side yard the string of summery porch lights on had she meant to call Lisa back and forgotten just as they entered the Interstate 90 connector tell me were they singing along with the oldies or were they just thinking in whispers of nothing important husband and wife thoughts grocery lists things for which to be incidentally thankful and in that instant so many hours before when the three-ton block of ceiling creaked ever so slightly then creaked again was she smiling pouring another black coffee for one of the regulars

Friendship Circle

I remember the whole Girl Scout pledge the handshake the two-finger salute the circle we formed at the end of our purposeful meetings there in the echoey gym by crossing our arms over our stomachs and joining hands even with Freya who already had her period singing before we went home Make New Friends in a round wanting nothing except our rides our suppers our favorite shows but squeezing the palm of the girl to the right passing around the sacred gossip until it came back as a nervous boy’s fingers the first time inside a blouse but tonight all of our living mothers are waiting again for us in the parking lot by the frozen track field listen they have cranked their radios low in the idling light each one of them wearing the scratchy and crooked scarf it has taken us weeks and weeks to knit.