Oblivious. Or maybe an open ear, monitoring the room. Yes, probably that, so just an impression of oblivion. I don’t stop myself; I bury my nose in the junction of her neck and shoulder, dry and downy, and inhale the sweet perfume of clean. One eye opens, staring, not at me, but across the room, … Continue reading Unwelcome Attention
poetry
Blockade
The ramshackle jumble of tumble-down trees builds a blockade at the edge of my yard. Brown, mostly brown with highlights of muted green—ivy smothered trees, frozen, dried, projecting brown as well. So brownish on brown, in fading light it’s hard to focus on any one object. Fifteen years ago, my house freshly purchased, no deadfall, … Continue reading Blockade
Running beyond the edge of suburbia
We glide, side by side, matching stride and pace. Silent, except for breath, the quiet thump of rubber on asphalt, simultaneous, the steady rhythm accompanied by a pattern playing in my head. Sunny and warm, a gentle tailwind matches our pace, leaving the sensation that we’re standing still, inhaling the pollen-laden air we just breathed … Continue reading Running beyond the edge of suburbia
Blogs don’t eat crickets
Like any living creature, it must be fed, it must be nurtured, loved. Neglected, it dies or stagnates or shrinks which might be worse than death. This blog, like King Tut, the bearded dragon living caged in my family room, basking beneath heat lamps, bright white and scorching during the day, warm red and comforting … Continue reading Blogs don’t eat crickets
The Cat
I lie awake, the minutes after turning out my light, brain active, anticipating the drawing shade of sleep. I took Lorazepam, a mild narcotic. It numbs my brain, silences the concerns that shake me awake in the early hours of tomorrow. Sleep feels unlikely. I wait for the medicine to dissolve. I wait for my … Continue reading The Cat
My Spot
On Saturday, he woke up sick. Not sick in a way worth blogging about: no visits to the E.R., no uncontrollable vomiting, no diarrhea, he didn’t even have a fever. He was stuffed up, congested. He moved from bed to the corner of the couch, the spot where I always sit, next to the ceiling … Continue reading My Spot
Untitled #1
It's a million pounds of marble. It sits like a massive boulder or a bomb-shelter two blocks from the Square, which is what we call the center of town, even though it’s a traffic circle. Past the comic book store and the candy shop and the place that sells expensive shoes from Sweden, the century … Continue reading Untitled #1
Caffeinated #2
On Saturday morning my head pounds the rhythm of my pulse an alarm clock alerting me that the time to start drinking coffee has already passed. Also: Caffeinated
Motions of Tourette
Eyes clenched, squeezed like a pair of fists, seconds before a fight. Eyeballs lurch, left then right, pushing ripples behind my bunched-up lids. Rapid eye movements in a dream of pain. Probing for that sandpapery spot—oh, they itch so much. I think no one is watching. Teeth on edge, scraping, my jaw gliding, forward and … Continue reading Motions of Tourette
Resolve (a.k.a. shithole)
There was a time not so long ago when appalled by something Donald Trump said I’d attack my laptop spewing venom at the internet and cleanse myself and the rest of the world with the flames of my desire to negate his foul commentary with decency and righteousness. After staking out moral high-ground I held my head high smug … Continue reading Resolve (a.k.a. shithole)
Fire
As I dart in close to drop on a log the hairs on my knee singe. They shrink and curl and shrivel to my skin so it looks like I shaved my legs in blotches and clumps. Flames dance and crackle and leap, and as a gentle wind blows, bully their way to my side … Continue reading Fire
A (Name) Poem
Jeanie Jordon was my girl. My squeeze. My better half. At least for a few weeks. To the best of my knowledge, we never held hands, and we certainly never kissed. We were thirteen. For several consecutive years, I went to a music and arts camp an hour away from home. Two-weeks spent sleeping in … Continue reading A (Name) Poem
Follow
When I hit follow, I mean it. Many WordPress users follow blogs simply to get a follow back. To boost their numbers. I understand this. Because it happens to me so infrequently, getting a follower is like a small hit of crack. A rush. Topping a milestone, 100, 200, etc, is something more. But I … Continue reading Follow
