Just past Randall Park in the shadow of the First Congregational Churchmy kid, who is taking me to the Joynt for $1 beersbetween Good Friday and Easter, asks me about the whole Jesus dealand I tell him the 2 block long version,where Jesus comes in on a donkey, adored –but fickle is the crowd and … More The Joynt
I retrieve the already-read newspaper for my dad from my car while we wait for breakfast omelets in the late afternoon, his eyes patched from melanoma scrapes. He looks like he got in a fist-fight. “Thems that die are the lucky ones!” he had said, coming out of surgery, a pirate. “Arrr, arrr, arrr.” The … More Halloween at the Blackstone Diner
I’ve cast the three who lived (thrown, broken, mending) upon the river of the world (flown, dammed, bending) they drift in solemn leisure (whether will or chance or fate) like shining broken windows (not shy not strong not vain) their wings catch specks of twilight (the eddies hold them fast). Three pulled toward the lake … More Casting Die
I am burning through the decades, not figuratively as I finish my first fifth decade, no literally onto this bonfire I am pitching husks of barnacles like Porterfield Elementary autograph books, 40 years of birthday cards, Christmas photos, school concert programs, playbills, ticket stubs, pay stubs, tree bark, blurry photos, zoo photos, tree photos, maps … More Fire and the Deep
October rain ebbs and flows and falls and falls and falls on the crooked pine trees and the roof, on the old swing set and the black driveway, on the cold, wet burn barrel and the American flag at the hundred year old house on Shady Lane where my parents live still. In the basement, … More The Disobedience of Rain
On the last Saturday of my 40s, I drive alone to Fish Creek to take the Sunset Bike Trail at Peninsula State Park. It occurs to me as I review the map, then fold it into small rectangles and put it into my back pocket, that if I live to be 96, it’s a decade … More 9.6 Miles in September
Halfway North 