I have returned to my native ways,

Reconnected thoroughly with my body

From the inside out

And the outside in,

In full cognition that the outside is the inside.

The “in” side also is the “out.”

I seek to live with my environment 

Without turning it into a dump-heap.

I seek to live with my beautiful mind

And my beautiful heart,

Without taking any part for granted,

Without turning myself into a dump-heap. 

I adorn my spirit with its nature. 

I can turn brown and fall.

I can freeze and cover myself with snow.

I can warm with gaiety and melt into

A mating mink,

And I can slink into the heat,

Like a snake seeking both

The summer’s sun,

And the cool shade of its rocks.

Come play with me.

Not because you have to,

Or because there’s any point at all,

But because it’s fun.

We can build castles by the sea

And sun ourselves on the shifting sands,

Forgetting all about the hands of time

That man has made.

-jenn

 He’s going his way,

And I’m going mine.

“How are ya,” I ask,

And he says, “Fine! I’m well. 

How are you?”

“Good,” I say.

So, he’s well and I’m good.

Is any of this true?

I smile and wave,

And he smiles, too,

And so, so very true,

Then, it must be.

And we continue on our merry ways,

Jay-walking.

-jenn

We’re rolling dice

And playing nice

While the outcome’s

Out on the horizon.

But as it’s coming 

Closer into view, 

We’ll wonder if the game

Is worth the candle?

Would it be better to finish 

Playing in the dark?

On a lark, handicap 

Each other lightly?

Or to just handle one another spritely,

Go to bed,

And save the candle 

For some other game instead?

-jenn

 In a world where the worldview is obvious,

Subversion occurs above ground,

Where lyrics slowly erode the canyons 

Of open ended denigration.

Music flows through the streets of the marketplace,

Where conservative fish cutters hum

The tunes of songs they think they know,

But the PiedPiper carries them away,

Where the people live and eat and play

And do something as radical as accepting one another,

Living their everyday lives two inches above the ground.

There is always music of the spheres

For those who hear it,

And unlike the tree that falls in the forest

And no one’s there

The spirit of the cosmos whirling

Makes its harmonic sounds

Whether anyone chooses to listen or not,

And love abounds,

Whether or not the words are said.

-jenn

 She cries from the sea

Her cry affects everyone who hears

Her deep dissatisfaction appeals

To anyone who’s ever felt

The unrequitedness of love 

No one wants to appear ungrateful 

But everyone has felt the pain

Of receiving bad gifts at Christmastime

And you can’t say anything 

But deep down you know

There must not be a Santa Claus 

For all of this is terribly wrong

And the grownups make light conversation 

But we see them cut their eyes

To pry into our childlike station

Remembering the demise

Of their own childhoods

I go outside 

My backyard the rocky Hebrides

I hear her cry

My hands reach out

For forgotten Atlantis

Longing to sing along with her

The woeful siren of the sea

-jenn

 Thesaur-sis

My older son has a fever.

“Do you have a headache?” I say.

“No,” he answers.

“A sore throat?”

“No,” he says, “I just feel tired.”

I’m reading off the Covid symptoms 

As listed on the CDC guideline page.

“A general malaise?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “I’d say it’s more of a lethargy.”

-jenn

 I ask my older son

What he wants to eat.

He doesn’t know; he isn’t hungry.

But as I’m still watching him shake his head

My younger son pipes up and says,

“I’ll take a hamburger.”

-jenn