A Thousand Cabbages

Samples

Following Sea

Norbert and I were two proud rookies

in twenty-eight feet of tar-blackened wood

powered by a dodgy engine

powered by the perfect sight of our first set

hundreds of salmon striking into the gillnet

then fighting the web it took us a long bloody time

to pick and flip them into the hold

where they slid like mercury

the sea and the sky and the hold dull and full

going home Cook Inlet bristled

followed us like a drunk driver–

butted the stern

forced us down into dark

spun us like cotton candy

when the boat inched to the top of each swell we teetered

and plunged into darkness again

the captain's eyes and jaw were tight

if we make it, I'm going to propose to her tonight

and I will get an office job

the channel marker looked like a bright kiss

the banks of the Kasilof a lover warm and waiting

Dog With a Mullet

I prefer my former years when cigarettes and wine were mine.

I prefer Democrats, Democratic Socialists and Greens in jeans.

I prefer being outside, in the fullness of summer, preferably by a lake.

I prefer the noble journalist to those who say fake.

I prefer stick-to-it-ive-ness and all those handy hyphens.

I prefer Alaska to California, zed to z, rubbish to garbage.

I prefer Black Lives Matter. Everything else doesn't, until.

I prefer kids to play chase in a field, not a cage.

I prefer a cast iron skilled,

a dog with a mullet,

a gun with no bullet.

I prefer the legs of Harriet Tubman,

the judgement of a boatman,

songs in the Greatest Showman.

I prefer having preferences,

it has taken so long

to proudly have some

Where We Softened All the Prickly Things

That autumn I had my hand in your pocket

as we walked arm in arm admiring old houses

in downtown Anchorage, where yellow leaves mixed

with the always magic first snow.

Alpenglow over the Chugach mountains

warmed us while we walked and talked, not wanting to be in Paris.

You bought me pearls and a small brimmed blue hat.

I bought you coffee and a toothbrush and a race horse.

We found a trail in the desert where we softened all the prickly thin

then strolled through museums with shiny floors.

From the hills of Seattle we saw necklaces of boats on Puget Sound,

and a tapestry of green and a sign blinking PHO in red neon.

We looked for a way to put our arms to our sides

but they stayed wrapped around us like the sash on a kimono.

Off the Gentians

When the cancer darted

from bowel to brain

it blew up your head

like a cartoon balloon,

assaulted the beauty

of your creamy face –

left your mouth twisted,

puckered and pitched.

The kids sprinted up Abbey Hill

while we rambled on the Green Road,

not saying that your son would be

fourteen going on eight when you die.

You scanned the sea

as it agitated

from Silver Strand to Inis Meáin.

We took electric peacock blue

off the gentians,