A Calendar Revisited

March 8March 1984

Eventually, the sky set in a systematic deadening of color, in blues and purples, and the sand cooled around my feet and I was alone. My friends went home long prior and losing the buzz of the sun made me, there with half-buried buckets and grit-scratched trucks, feel even more solitary. I liked the quiet at these times because it felt like the time of day when there should be quiet, when the world packed up and relaxed its shoulders. Intermediately, the stillness would be cut with growls of landing planes and then the quiet would once again come and at some point I would start a countdown from continue reading…

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The Light of What They Suffer

IMG_4086An egg-shaped paperweight sits on top of a stack of books in one of the cubbies of our largest bookshelf. Fixed in the middle of its transparency is a jellyfish, frosted white. Its body, the part that pulsates and spreads as it travels through the water, is about the size of teacup and the tentacles hang from its inversion. In the egg, there’s the reflection of the outside—in another time, the blue of summer midday, now, a sliver of white, of cold season and I squint to see the snow that’s falling, to witness its movement, hoping it transfers to illusion of movement of the wiry thin tentacles, to watch the jellyfish swim upwards towards the surface, to break free, to stretch through its resin.

When I stop imagining, stop seeing it swim, the entire action of my scene continue reading…

The Weary World

Rest 8A story from Emily Culella about a birthday, another birthday, our then culture, and our now culture. It’s beautiful, and for the season, to be read and reread.

Advent comes from the words “ad” meaning to, and “venire” which means to come. It’s the wait for something better. It’s the hope that the future will be brighter. It’s the admission that things are not so good in the present.

Christmas eve is my favorite day of the year. It’s also the saddest day for me. And it’s my birthday. This day, a day of dichotomies and contradictions is continue reading…

Voice Box, part II

Spire II 8This month’s theme was “My Favorite Things.” There were a couple reimaginings of the song and the usual great stories and music. Emily read an amazing piece which I’ll share soon, here. I read a five-sentence story in the open mike, five-sentence story portion of the night. This is it:

My Favorite Things

For one, blue, the blue that tints our blood, we say as kids, before it hits air. The blue of the edges of milk, sometimes, of the sun, sometimes, when I squint directly at it and continue reading…

By the Toe

The killed man is remembered by trees
they’ve seen him before
angels, pressed into the ground
their old roots see the new
in the old re-seen
these days, it tumbles back upon itself
only now from a different elevation
the trees have mirrors hanging
from their branches the
killed man on the ground had just thought
of the river and being
fished, he
looks at the mirrors
hanging, again
and sees himself in the tree
out of water smacking his lips
gasping for air