9/1
Scraps woven and sewn
into a sweet blue turtle.
Now she needs a home.

9/2
The sandy gravel
littering the shade garden:
downpour evidence.

9/3
Why penny whistles
for the guy who can whistle
lilts, Brahms, Bach, The Who?

9/4
After clams, a walk
to the Old Burial Ground.
They lived in slave times.

Eunice, Tyler, John,
Samuel, Martha, Lucy.
Lichen on granite.

9/5
Recycling: a scam
to make boomers feel better
about consumption.

9/6
On a dare, a boy
eats super hot nachos. Dies.
Please make it make sense.

9/7
The year’s hottest day.
Five thousand steps before ten.
Where are all the birds?

9/8
Season of the stoop.
Power saws. Demolition.
Pencils behind ears.

9/10
Trees held in the glass
tabletop turn eating eggs
into religion.

9/10
Two bins of cloth strips.
Three inch, two. Pink, black, grey, blue.
Archeology.

9/12
Glass lined room, fish tank
like in the wet gloom. A hawk
flashes past. Ah, air!

9/13
There is a quiet
in the neighborhood. Not at
all like September.

9/14
I slept like a lamb
and woke to a day free of
rain. Hallelujah!

9/15
Bracing for the storm
means closing the umbrellas.
A few cacti in.

9/16
Grassy paths, stone steps.
Pink hydrangeas and asters.
Granite for the dead.

9/17
Dappled legs, four. Heads
tilted close, two. Friends walking
through shade on Cypress.

9/18
How it rains, rains, rains,
and rains, as if Seattle.
But it’s not. We’re east.

9/19
The hydrangeas bloom
in pretty exuberance.
Softening tarmac.

9/20
I made corn fritters,
Claire brought cookies, Pat stories.
Kathleen looked well. Yeah!

9/21
A memorial
made of sheets pegged to a line.
Wind testimony.

9/24
Blustery breeze off
the St. Lawrence. A chilly
Québécois farewell.

9/25
Scarlet berries dot
the female holly bushes
and I’ve made curry.

9/28
Crickets sing sad songs
of nostalgia. Childhood in
a chorus of chirps.

9/29
Like so many days
I wake to trucks’ shrill beeping.
Tree work racket now.