What the Living Do – Marie Howe Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Marie Howe
Father’s Voice – William Stafford “No need to get home early; the car can see in the dark.” He wanted me to be rich the only way we could, easy with what we had. And always that was his gift, given for me ever since, easy gift, a wind that keeps on blowing for flowers … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by William Stafford
Some of the things it’s possible to do while walking the six-mile block you walk every day when you’re back in the land where you grew up: Look north to the foothills of the Adirondacks and think, as you always do, how cool it is that a fifteen-minute drive behind the wheel of a car … Continue reading 6 Mile
Lady Look-Alike Lazarized – Jennifer Michael Hecht It was many, many years ago in this house, with this tree that a woman lived, whom I don’t know in a photo you can see. She baked bread and ate with two fat men and her picture looks much like me. I was a child and she … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Jennifer Michael Hecht
The Best Moment of the Night – Tony Hoagland You had a moment with the dog, down near the base of the butcher-block table just as the party was getting started. Just as the guests were bringing in their potluck salads and vegetarian lasagna, setting them down on the buffet, you had an unforeseeable exchange … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Tony Hoagland
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
drink from the well of your self and begin again. -Charles Bukowski
Your Source For The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
