-
TIME OUT
You could feel the tears embedded in the email “We didn’t know she had only three years.” She is 84 and failing in so many small ways that the prognosis comes with great pain, but barely shock save for its delivery. So we cherish the remaining days and cast the estimate aside.
-
A SIMPLE SONG
This morning’s song is drawn from the whispers of the passing clouds as the last snow flows gently down the street.
-
ON AGING
Ensconced on the couch, the cat hears a bird singing outside the window. Once, she would have pressed her face against the screen, imagining a great chase. Now she listens, content to let the birds sing into the fading sun.
-
PROBLEM
Stuck in traffic yet again my mind wanders, unimpinged by the need to pay careful attention to the car on front also frozen in place. I am back in school listening carefully as the teacher explains the problem: “You are at point B and I am at point A. The points are 100 miles apart…
-
MIRACLES
If you ask, she says, you take away the chance of ever getting a miracle. If you ask and it happens you reduce it to a simple prayer answered, no matter how surprising the outcome. You don’t see, he said it’s not the final act that is the miracle, it’s that it actually happens to…
-
CHARLAP
Bill places his fingers on the keyboard, nods to the drummer and bassist. God waves his hands, demands heavenly silence and unsurprisingly to you, no one argues the point. Even Evans, sitting at God’s feet, smiles and says “it’s so nice to know our legacy is safe,” and turning to Blakey, adds “Ain’t that so…
-
ERATO PREFERS LATTE
My muse sits quietly on the shelf over the counter in the Café Espresso at Barnes and Noble nestled between 12 ounce bags of Colombian Supremo and Kenya AA, in the shadow of the plant whose leaves reach out to caress her cheek. She whispers to me between notes from the guitarist performing on the…
-
FOYLES
Charing Cross Road booksellers woven amid theaters cramped sagging shelves an out of print Christine Evans, slim, collected works of those long forgotten never noticed a damp chill enfolds old leather as the door opens and shuts on a late February. Morning, my purchases sink in the plastic bag dancing as I walk to the…
-
EPISTLES
In dreams I write letters to dead heroes beginning each Dear __________: I apologize for the intrusion but in your next life will you do the same, give up the desk in the patent office for dreams of brothers twins, one moving one fixed, stand before a jury, no testament to the Lower East Side.…
-
ACT IV
He knew he should not have brought the gun. He hated guns, they served no purpose in his world of words. He wanted to look at it, to stare at it, really. He thought that if he did so he might be better able to write about the senselessness of the world in which he…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 