• ALTERNATIVES

    I would much rather be home, listening to Joan Osborne on the CD player, lying on the couch with you sleeping across the sofa curled under the cotton throw coiled against the winter battering the windows ca tucked into your knees. Instead, I sit on the bed CNN droning in the background and stare out…


  • ENFOLDING

    As a child I was quite adept folding sheets of newspaper into paper hats and paper boats. The boats immediately took on water, and sank like the sodden masses I made them to be, but I could wear the hats for hours, until my mother had to scrub my forehead to get off the printer’s…


  • LA MER

    Next week we will walk along the beach and periodically stare out on the ocean. The waves will wash in and out, and one will look much like the last and the next. If we get out early enough, perhaps we will sit outside a café across the road from the beach and drink our…


  • A CALL

    The thing about it is it is so damn quiet I can hear myself think but I can’t think anymore. And I’ll tell you this box is so cold it just leaks air and water has seeped in. Somehow I expected more it isn’t at all what was promised and the stone is not set…


  • WHAT DO YOU READ, MY LORD?

    There is probably much that could be said, a bit less that should be said, but I I’m not the person to say it, and remain silent. You are surprised by the silence — it is not what you expect of me, and that you find disconcerting and a bit unnerving. If I asked you…


  • THE VILLAGES

    You are driving through the Florida that once was, that is off the coast, and out of Orlando, the Florida of jalousie windows, run down once gas stations and the more than occasional double wide. Suddenly, you are in a Disney version of a semi-tropical New England, gated villages where cars have been supplanted by…


  • ONCE, ONCE

    Once, not long ago, a river meandered through our town. Actually, there was never a river here, and our town is really a small and shrinking city. But the wistful look on your face when I mentioned the river is reason enough to have one. So now I have to move somewhere in Connecticut or…


  • VILLAGE

    The village of my grandfather still stands amid the fields adobe walls stained by soot from the fireplace birds nesting in the summer warmed chimney singing. The ancient scythe leans against the wall, its blade embedded in the crusted soil as the old tractor idles in the field. Armies have trod this ground ignoring the…


  • A CALL

    The thing about it is it is so damn quiet I can hear myself think but I can’t think anymore. And I’ll tell you this box is so cold it just leaks air and water has seeped in. Somehow I expected more it isn’t at all what was promised and the stone is not set…


  • SOMETHING

    There is something gentle about her, a softness, as though she arrived on a gentle breeze, was present before you felt her on the back of your neck, a smile that cast your shadow on the snowy walk. She was often like this, as though knowing she might be an antidote to the harshness of…