Tuesday, May 18, 2010

musings about stuff





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May 18. Everybody's talking about it. We've been hearing about it for 30 years. Heck, we've been looking at it for 30 years. But it really was, and, is, remarkable. The violence and power of our planet up close and personal, right here in our back yard of Washington and Oregon. The beautiful ice-cream cone peak named St. Helens that went off in 1980 is still on our minds -- and still active, rumbling and grumbling quite often. My Dad owned a gas station at the time. Ash fell all around the Portland, Oregon area. He made some extra cash fixing messed up cars and selling air filters. Of course, we didn't get the brunt of it, but the ash accumulation was significant. It was a strange, exciting time. I remember it well. We still have photos of family camping at Mt. St. Helens when it was one of the prettiest mountains in the Cascade Range. Now it has a different kind of beauty. The transformative kind. We were laughing about it this morning, BAK and I. He said, "I was working in the ski shop in Eugene." I said, "I was 12." The next words out of his mouth: "Masturbating in your closet." Wild guess (not) but he was right (of course). So I wrote a silly poem. And then another one, about how the rest of the morning went.




Now I'm going to make banana rhubarb bread and have a little glass of wine. It's rhubarb season, which means spring is here in earnest, even though it's raining, which makes me smile.


Here's the recipe --though I'm gonna loaf mine......

And now for poetry.

Lucky 13

The mountain popped off
and went topless
When I was twelve
“masturbating in your closet,” he said.
“How’d you know?” I answered.
Gritty ash coated our existence for a month
Dad made a mint
repairing cars
and selling air filters.
We scooped it into jars.
I kept them in my closet. The jars of ash.
No more licking the cream cone top
of her. She went off and got
all hormonal on us
that crazy volcanic rage shook the mudflows
loose as we looked on in
horror and wonderment.
My closet had a hiding spot
perfect for shy girls
not afraid to listen in
on adult conversations.
Shudder. Rumble. Shake.
Childhood erupted, interrupted, disrupted.
A landscape dismembered
and now fondly remembered.
That summer I turned thirteen.

Morning

Sleepy-brained and curled
against the long, warm curve
of him
my chest falls to his rise
a transformative synchronization
our breathing sustains
like rain
and soil,
meat and sunlight
these few days of a life we are privileged
to share
Never a sigh
Or groan.
No wailing or pity. No anger. No
bitter tears. Only sweet whimpers, giggles
and moans.
Cock and balls relax
against my palm
and thigh
lips twitch.
We are alone
cocooned
free, yet born
fully alive
bursting into being

4 comments:

BadAssKona said...

One good volcanic explosion begets another. And, yes, when we get on that plane together we will warp time and space. Gravity will cease and we will return to where we should have been, all along. When we kiss... the second Big Bang!

Craig Sorensen said...

Love the poems! Great stuff.

I was stationed at Indianapolis at the time of Mt St Helens eruption, but still distinctly remember the event. My family in Idaho was there as some of the ash accumulated there.

Erobintica said...

Love the poems, especially the line "She went off and got all hormonal on us..."

Gina Marie said...

BAK -- I'm so looking forward to gravity-defying feats in vacationland!

Thanks, Craig. That's funny -- my Dad is from Indiana & I think we sent some ash to the midwest :-)

Hi Robin! I haven't been very good about poems-a-day, but at least it planted a seed and I've done more than usual.