Untraveling

A few miles past that fucked-up intersection coming off of the Chicago Skyway – the toll booth, the gaping hole in the road, the circle left and then allemand right demanded by some depraved square dance caller – I-65 shakes off the big city and, like any good Midwesterner makes a good and straight line … More Untraveling

Sap, Rising

this blustery March afternoon I’m crossing what is still my back yard for a time drill in hand, a spile, a bright blue bag – 38 degrees, sandals skirting dried dog poop among brown leaves that fell, bright, the autumn before; the hole on the underside of the spile, yesterday confounded me but the sap … More Sap, Rising

There is no Wizard

If we were still in the old world, the six-weeks ago one, right now a girl with a make-up pencil might be standing before you with a mock frown – “stand still!” she’d say, drawing crow lines on your face, not crow’s feet, but lines to make you look like a crow, so you could … More There is no Wizard

The Lights Flicker Once, Last Call in Suamico

And it’s the beginning of the end of the world – the regulars are turned out of the taverns, red-faced and singing defiantly, swaying and carrying their jackets under their arms into the almost-spring night, leaving behind the warm beer-sign bubbles, the cracked cheer of the bartenders, the pilsner philosophy of their fellow compatriots holding … More The Lights Flicker Once, Last Call in Suamico

The Nest (Or, a Father Considers the Odds of Raising Successful Small-Mouth Bass Offspring)

That afternoon at the cabin we sat by the river after I had cut up those small trees that you dropped at my feet with the tractor – (an offering, a challenge, one that I tore through haphazardly with the new chainsaw, black and yellow like a drunken, terrible bumblebee). It was quiet after all … More The Nest (Or, a Father Considers the Odds of Raising Successful Small-Mouth Bass Offspring)

Falling Stars

Outside in the drizzle of spring, green, green is the grass – lilacs are tiny purple fists waiting to unfold to again welcome May – once more trotting out its new beginning- with sweet applause; Inside, the window is cracked because of the paint, and you, at the far end of 16, stand without a … More Falling Stars