Night Market

When I look over my shoulder to change lanes on the Leo Frigo bridge high above the bay, I see her  reaching over to smooth his long hair – my son’s girlfriend – and it’s as though he’s been cracked open and I’ve seen his heart beating for the first time. It’s crowded, so  we … More Night Market

The Fourth Generation of Monarchs Remember the Future

Three generations of monarchs unfurl their wings right where they emerge, dazed, to mate for hours while the world pitches and yaws, dusk to dawn – six weeks spent locked in an off and on fluttering embrace, drifting in circles of lazy lust just along overgrown highways of the driftless area (Trempeleau, Pepin, Eau Claire) … More The Fourth Generation of Monarchs Remember the Future

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)

NPR Asked for Summer Haiku

I.  Shady Lane barefoot at twilight we play Ghosts in the Graveyard vanishing in dark   II.  Rook cards slap on the porch after-dinner Manhattans kids drunk with freedom   III. Beckoning June is ever-dusk fireflies wink in gangly grass as I pedal home    

Centrifugal Force

In the beginning the boys and their sleds and half-size snowboards would pile in on a snow day, headed for the Suamico Elementary School hill; They were puppies, interchangeable, laughing, careening down the hill over and over – later they’d play Minecraft, fighting zombies in the dark, building houses close together for protection – in a … More Centrifugal Force

Midwest Poultry Show

Behind me a man at the Minneapolis airport says: “I’ll see you at the Midwest Poultry Show” except what I hear is not that but “Midwest Poetry Show” which makes   slightly less sense but it’s too late, I am already thinking of their sleepless night, all the poets waking before dawn and coaxing their … More Midwest Poultry Show

22 Years Later

I. On the way up to the lake house, the back of the vehicle jammed with things of this earth: snacks, casseroles, a snowboard, three pairs of snow pants, a snow shovel for the ice rink, skates, sleeping bags, water, wine – and after passing barn upon barn, acre upon acre of crumbling stone and … More 22 Years Later