In “the excitement of firing” one young soldier on the roof of No. 25 Northumberland Road knocked himself unconscious with the butt of his own rifle, while his comrade, who’s telling this story as an old man, fired away … Read More
There had been cat-stink out by the bushes, and I was scared for the song-thrush, its nest a chalice of grass and twigs, carpeted with mud and human hairs; there were five glossy sky-blue eggs spotted with black … Read More
A blessing on the endurance of childhood, each moment a lifespan and a whole hour runs over the horizon. Blessing on the hard rooms of old age, a dull curtain drawn against the city, every day a … Read More
In evergreens gravid with snow, the red startles, a sudden flare– you see the rounded wind of bird, an exhalation, before the bird itself drenched in after-color: … Read More
At times we believe we have been wronged, so perfectly and bankrupted, that someone must come to redress us and does so— a stranger appearing who reveals an exit door inside a still life scene of tables, in … Read More
It’s still there. So are my dead parents in their bathing suits and white terrycloth robes, trundling their beach bags, chairs, and umbrellas. The path connects woods to river, connects the shadowy light shouldering through swamp maples to the … Read More
I have been reading your better servant George Herbert again, and I’m trying to turn my day into prayer, praying as the toast rises with the toaster’s tinny bell and the tea leaves turn water into English Breakfast tea, … Read More
You will not remember my face, said the Angel, in the imperium of woe, but there are some compensations to be had by the eye: the cities in shadow, the fields in light, clouds like great ships massed … Read More
I always keep averting my eyes from who I am. I don’t know whether this is true Of everyone I know sitting beside me At dinner at a restaurant or at A family gathering, although I wonder What it … Read More
Flower baskets drool petals and the teenage girl in her pink and black skull pajamas walks beneath the flowers without hurry. Parts of the morning are still in the future. God, that racket inside you is a … Read More
Ms. Pearl’s son turned on her Christmas lights so no one would know she’s not there— a row of electric candles in the window flicker blue, gold, blue again. Back bowed in her rain-soft front yard, as we … Read More