Category: Uncategorized
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Click-click. Click-click. Along the pavement speeding, the mark of a sole against the concrete, her right to live how she wished. A penny she threw into a fountain. “Oh, let me, please,” she pleading said. “Let me be a poet in my life.” Chill air, blanketing on all sides. Midwinter. No water flowed: the fountain…
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The goldfinch, when it flies away, bobs through the air like a skipping stone on the water. Gold-yellow-black its body. Gathering at a feeder, holding on with small, tendril-like feet. Stopping – once – to alight on a post that is nearby, and sits staring out at my flowery yard. I wonder. Is that an…
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She turned from him, her back to him – a shoulder cold. Married long, their love had paled; no longer could they say, one to the other, what the other meant to them. Not in words like that was their love longer played. Of all things, their hearts most wanted to speak to the other’s…
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There is a theater I like to visit. In the center city it stands. It has an implacably golden ceiling. When I go to the theater I sit at the top, in the nosebleed section, in the very last row. In this way, I am closer to the bright surface. It sparkles above me when…
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It’s a small, little thing, and yet – with button eyes and nose, and padded paws, pink all over, a mouth turned up in a coy smile, wrapped up in a t-shirt: I heart New York – so long it’s sat atop my bed, on the coverlet, against the wall, and drunk in all my…
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Love, in some ways, I consider more a matter of diligence than of inspiration. Love is to grow closer to a someone who is living while you live, to spend time with you and grow like you in the end. Love is to take risks. Love is to dare. Love is to say to someone,…
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On my desk there stands a white pot, and, within the white pot, a white orchid. I see it every day when I sit down to work. Its petals are full, like fans, delicately drooping, stacked together in pairs. When I raise my fingers to the white surface, the feeling is as one of silk.…
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Demon of night, and embers all aglow: tonight we gather round the fireplace, heart of our home. My father lades the fire, loads into it paper, as kindling, and logs we have had for years, well-dried. But for the kindling keenly stoked, the house would be cold, this third night without power after the storm.…
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Are we rare, and therefore lucky? Do aliens sit, upon a day, like us, in a park, on a bench, under trees, with sun to look down over them, and kiss their eyes as they marvel at green and flowers around them? Do people on other planets look up to the heavens, standing and immersed…
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When Lucy walked the plains of Africa, when all her kind had learned to walk with the crowns of their heads reaching tall to the sky, when they used tools, first to forage, then to hunt, when they first began to range out far from the places where they had first come to be, I…
