No Tangent

I’ve been too busy trying to solve

    problems. Little things, nothing serious.

        Like why I spend money on spinach

            each week if I’m never going to finish it,

                or figuring out which bird call

    I keep hearing by the pond hidden

  deep in the corner of the woods.

It’s better to live with questions

  than answers. This is something

    I tell myself when I want to cry

                about all the life I won’t get

                  to see at the bottom of the ocean,

                    the shapeshifters swimming just beneath

                      this teeny slice of perception.

                        There are jaguars running

    through deserts, dunes where no human

       will ever step foot on the sand.

      I think this is good, though I admit

            jealousy, a certain envy for them.

                 There’s no solution for this

                     waiting any place other

            than here, or maybe near the coves

          of La Jolla where orange fish kiss

        snorkelers and sea lions drink red wine.

         I only remember the magic of that place.

           My father called yesterday. It was my birthday.

                                He didn’t mention it.

                                I wanted to tell him

                                I’ve been doing well,

                                but something caught

                            in my throat like a gobstopper

                        or heat from a habanero ghost.

           I choked, said I was doing alright,

          wiped snot from a nose, then fell

            to my knees. How soft and easy.

                        Evening sun was floating

                        through the window.

The Science of Fermentation

Jesus sold me a bottle of kombucha

last Saturday. He had a makeshift stand

along the side of County Rd. 97,

silhouetted by a backdrop of cornstalk.

I told him I was scared of what comes next.

He pointed to a baby-blue mushroom

that sprouted near his foot.

                               “That is what comes next.”

He wrapped his arms

around my shoulders.

                               “And here, I’ve given you the chance

                               to not make a mess of it.”