For most of my adult life, I would call my parents, but only once a week. Even into my retirement, I had to preserve my sense of independence. But their average age is now over ninety, so our daily phone calls reassure me they are stable and I energize them with my adventures.
On Halloween Eve, while Rick littered his front lawn with mock foam tombstones, his former neighbor Chuck stopped to visit. They shook hands. Chuck was close to 50, his once brown hair now peppered with gray. Rick hadn’t seen him in years. “What’s up, man?”
My best writing? Right about now. Unless it was earlier.
*Originally written for Pawling Public Radio’s “America the Beautiful” poetry presentation
I lay on the land, grass tickling bare toes.
Descendants of descendants of descendants of the first ants to explore the soil
We come speaking tongues
Spanglish editions of handwritten love songs
Scribbled fiercely and flung
Lady takes a cursory look around the room; even without direct eye contact she can see the wrinkled faces and craning necks over the high back chairs, stretching toward her… She smiles apprehensively and backs away. She had no intention of making a spectacle of herself. She doesn’t know where that came from. But it did. She was compelled. It must have been the Muzak and the waiting. Continue reading For Lack of a Hat Part II
My wife looked out upon a single fawn
that gnawed, unaware, at the hedge
beside the rock garden on this first day
The Lake Writers Third Annual Group Reading Held on November 11, 2016