A Poem On a Monday and a Recap

I didn't have access to a computer until yesterday and then I've been dealing with network problems. But I'm in now. The kids and I had a great time on our mini vacation to Minnesota. We stayed with friends in Mankato one night and then drove on up to the cities where we took in a Twins game, had some beach time on Lake Calhoun, walked a heck of a lot, stayed with more friends and were rewarded with listening to Derek Tellier put poems to music, and then checked out the Como zoo and park before heading back. Here are some pics of our famous times:

 Two tough mommas (that'd be me and Nicole Helget)

 Catching up with one of my best buddies Nate LeBoutillier. He and his wife Nicole have 3 kids together, and 3 from a previous marriage makes them a regular Brady Bunch. They have such a great, cozy, eclectic home. I love the vibe there. And they recently had their co-written young adult novel published. It's titled Horse Camp. Go on and get a copy.

 Phillip, Gordy, Archie, and my Fisher, throwing down some tough poses.

 Taxi to the Twins stadium

 We arrived just in time, scalped some tickets, had a stranger take this picture, and then made our way in, where we indulged in hot dogs, soda, cotton candy, and pretzels. No holding back on vacation.

 And of course we got some foam fingers.

 We headed to Lake Calhoun after the game and spent a few hours making sand castles and swimming.

And since it's Monday and I'm coming off a road trip I'll include a driving poem. I don't think there's any set up needed with this one so here it is:

Driving

The lady driving her car in front

of me rolls her window up to the

wind, checks her tossed hair in

the rear view mirror, adds order

to the world. My window is down,

arm hooked on the door as if to

check the pulse of the road beneath,

leave the mess the wind makes. 

I’ve known this wind: weeks ago it was

at my back, lifting. Now it claps

at my face for recognition.

I trace its source, come up empty,

think of wind in Venezuela,

wrapping the skirt of a woman

planting seeds in her yard tight

around her thighs and calming,

or pushing a pocketbook down

the street in India, all those eyes

watching it go. I breathe in hard,

hoping for a scent of China, the air

of New Zealand, the Philippines,

plead for the woman driving in front

to roll down her window, forget herself,

welcome all things with the wind,

swallow rock dust, water, longing.

Casey Lord