Monthly Archives: March 2010
Her son killed himself today. And I want to hate him. This boy who chose for his family. But why? Why hate him? What would hate bring but deeper sorrow? I saw a child in the details. I did. And what mother would deny a … Read more
However you find solace, that is what I wish you. Grass on bare feet, light through the leaves, dogs baying at train whistles, kisses, hands at your back.
Sometimes I wish for something to pray to. And there is only language. And all that it … Read more
They are wrapped in sleep, the dogs chewing cud, the circled cat, the girl in a partial tuck. The National plays much too loudly from the next room. And you have been awake forever. More than an hour. In the dark. With your dreams in … Read more
My editor made a couple of notes about it: the building of tension, and its lack of payoff. My first instinct was to argue. To argue that tension, in life, rarely pays off. That often our anxieties come to nothing.
You may have a series … Read more
I wrote a poem about it, the wicked Japanese lunch lady who bullied me through my three days of in-school suspension. My father had turned me in for cutting, and forging his signature. I don’t know which upset him most. She told me, gleefully, how … Read more
We lived on Gridley Loop, which was, in fact, a super loop of Army quarters in Fort Leonardwood, Missouri. When I was in third grade, a family of beautiful boys moved in. Paul was my favorite. A year older than I, and lovely. Quiet, intelligent, … Read more
Josephine Tey wrote quiet books. Her stories are hard to shake. They seem simple, but they’re human, and true, neither of which is simple. My mother handed me her books a number of years ago, all of them, in worn paperback. They’d been my grandmother’s. … Read more
“They shot me, Mommy. They shot me in the legs. And then they gave me lollipops.” He holds all four lollipops up for proof.
“Did it hurt?” I ask. “Your booster shots.”
“Yes. My legs totally hurt. I need some ice cream. To feel better. … Read more
You’ve dated an artist, yes? We all experience that at least once, like chickenpox. I swore, in my middle twenties, never again. But that makes life difficult when you’re writing, and the person you’re with doesn’t get that you’re writing and it’s a consuming activity. … Read more
It’s a kind of wisdom, right, learning to maintain boundaries. Not boredom, or sad-sack aging, but wisdom, right? I’ve done something to my leg. Strained a muscle or pulled something. Anyway, it hurts. And last night, wrapping the thing, stretching, hearing the soccer ball wallop … Read more