Lake Champlain scuttled awaybehind me when I told Emilyour escape velocity wasn’t enoughto leave Ohio behind forever.If I had been a storm I wouldhave given my winds to her eyes.If I had the necessary understandingof weather patterns I would havejust followed her into the water. More from this Author Read More in Poetry
Mid-nightmy body tantrumsto be heard.The first timeI thought I was dying;I wrote a notethat said onlyI love you so much.Just in case.Now I know to call this a panic attack.Nothing is wrong -I mean nothing morethan usual, which these daysis a collective meditationon when to screamand when to soband the jenga stackof reasonspiling higher, higher,all wobbly.First... Continue Reading →
Blueberry Picking, 1972Not the berries at first but the bright smellof pine needles warm in the afternoon.Sun awake in the blue, late-summer sky.A crackling Southern drawl, an elderlygrandmother announcing plans to makejam. Slant light seeping through thick aspens.The first blueberry pings the pail’semptiness, begins the slow filling up.Smooth skin steeped in deep purple.Grandchildren, pails full,... Continue Reading →
They’re walking through the country store, arm in arm, when Jason Mattlock remarks offhandedly to his girl, Carrie Carson, that fly-fishing is for fags. He says this under his breath, as they stroll past the display case with its flawless arrangement of hand-tied flies, and when Carrie slaps his arm and asks him where he... Continue Reading →
from the dock with metal bars, we threw lines into the sunlit lake. lures sankto the biting bottom, as worms did a jiggling dance on the hooks. the onlychatter was birds in trees and cars on roads. muffled lips don't move, not amurmur as we sat in placidity.side to side like strangers, we monitored bobbers... Continue Reading →
First began as a small fishing village, now a concrete forest, Shanghai canonly hold on to a few things against the advancing war machine of time.When the sun rises, in the small alleys sandwiched by skyscrapers, merchantscome with their aged, cackling, but colorfully decorated chariots and gatheralong the walls. The road is still made with... Continue Reading →
about this piece The Sad Truth2021 See More in Cartoons
Long before he was a reader of the news, and decades before he owned a press that printed it, Jefferson Kyle Kidd, a natural runner, carried messages for the army at the age of sixteen, his strong legs and lungs having been seasoned in the north Georgia mountains. He jogged...
about this piece Reasons to Get the Vaccine2021 See More in Cartoons
