When your grandmother decided for care and comfort and laid a string of pearls across an ocean it’s open depths yawning the unknown a depth you could not follow So you said your prayers beneath cerulean heavens and bribed the Norse god of independence to gather the shards of your broken soul After a while, … Continue reading
The sun’s rays echoed off the water and the traffic glided easily on the Carquinez Bridge as I drove my van through early morning traffic. Suddenly liberated from a canceled temp job, I found myself with a few hours of freedom stretching before me. Movement in the water caught my eye as I glanced out … Continue reading
In mid-July the heat reverberates makes the thought of comfort dull my footprints trail the thick blades of St. Augustine grass the smell of Confederate Jasmine heady and heavy Around the porch corner I’ll meet your memory framed by spilling trumpet vines caressing the painful ecstasy of slow loss These summer paths the trajectory of … Continue reading
Shopping with my mother I’m fifty going on nine in the produce section the green disarray of lettuces flamboyant peppers add some flair as if Matisse had been let loose there. Above our heads the industrial rafters are chirping with excitement two skittering little birds jumping gaily humming their good fortune. Nothing green can stay … Continue reading
I stepped into a cove of time at the edge of a neighborhood where down the street an old lady sang the finale of her daydreams the sky hung close and whispered wayward secrets in this place of ruins and relics prompting me to disbelieve the promises of architecture Sure, you can go inside and … Continue reading
It was gonna be a good day to ride, chumming around with Keith and Tommy. It was really just Keith and me who were good friends, but Tommy had the best truck for doing ice donuts in deserted parking lots. So even though he was a square, we let him come along for transportation reasons. … Continue reading
I find in the middle drawer of an antique chest an envelope of postage stamps that my mother forgot she had The pink rose ones dated 1998 one Kwanzaa two Snow White and a stamp that simply boasts, “First Class” It is easy to see how forgotten things fall to the bottom of a drawer … Continue reading
At fifteen, I found myself intricately studying the architecture of hamburgers and following the instructions of my uncle regarding the assembly and appearance of such culinary delicacies. Uncle Ron was my mother’s older brother and they were just like peas and carrots, as Forest would say. He knew the food business as he had established … Continue reading
My mind drifts from the still life in landscape painted in oil breaking up the melancholy of cursed rooms to the center of the hospital bed as I stood next to my mother pressing my pulse to her’s willing her to live her life dispensing into my soul losing cherished moments running through my fingers … Continue reading
She walks in beauty or rather she once ran through the scorching farm fields heavy with crops Look at me, she would say swarthy, twiglike, silky hair her brain lit with chemical combustion She rescued him in the desert poured drinks of rainwater plied his truths with drunken lips and lies He ran blindly haunted … Continue reading
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