Like the feller with the kickdrum running across that down-
town avenue, his road trip dreams and his wedding ring 
pie in the sky, the harmonica bleats chasing us down
the plum streets. Like an ordinary spring day 
and the most beautiful gal this side of wherever, a bag of discs 
strapped to her shoulder, we’re playing disc golf, you see, 
and the colorful discs get scattered, Easter eggs of 
childhood and tie-dye ambitions of the teen years, parted with 
and found again. Like Jason and his wife snuggling 
under their rented comforter, a comfort, here it is. The joy is 
what I’m saying. The joy is what is spreading and wow. 
And wow at Laura in her solo bungalow, post-divorce, post-next-try, 
post-whatever, a bear hug found her and now no more flounder, 
no egg-shell-tippy-toe fear, just living alone and stoked. It’s beautiful. 
It’s beautiful to see a picture of Ryan with his hair slicked back 
in Chicago, or Alexis with her dear little young’un on a train zooming 
through Brooklyn. What shouldn’t be zooming through Chicago, 
or Brooklyn, or right here in Austin? Stephanie selects her poems 
for the first time, the first time her parents get her celebratory vision, 
image of daughter, buzzed head calling out feelings to a roomful 
of people, strangers or kinfolk or not, and it’s beautiful, it’s art, okay. 
Another Stephanie inflates the bounce house for her 
boyfriend’s 30th birthday and his brother takes 30 minutes lingered 
over the beer section at the grocery.  It’s important to get it right, but also 
to get it at all. Beer or a divorce. Easter eggs or the disc golf disc you threw 
farther than you ever expected. I’m just saying I like knowing people 
spread out and glowing. In the U-P a man who once shook me for being 
too embarrassed to wear my tank top is bustling through
the snow towards his next novel and his wife, vegan lasagna cooling on 
the counter. In Tallahassee, a kickflip landed safely, not just 
for the kickflipper’s self, but for a gal in Minnesota, for a brother left-
behind in Akron, for me and this poem in Austin. In Austin, I waddle 
around opinions on this new soft shore, but mostly 
just feel sure, sure like bursting my love, like joy confetti with a hint of brisket. 
I miss my parents is another thing I’m wanting to say. Today they are scattered—
Dad cruising his new hog back home through Virginia/Mom at Basket Bingo 
where she might win a hundred and seventy dollar laundry basket, but not 
before donating twenty-five bucks to the local food pantry.