Monthly Archives: September 2018

The flavor is in the blood

Any cook will tell you, when you brown meat and rest it on the plate, blood will accumulate there and you always use that blood, or whatever juice comes out, when you put it in the pot. I sat in … Continue reading

Posted in identity, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 41 Comments

Red wine and rain (repeat 3x, fast)

Down came the rain like a permanent marker. The permanence of fall, of nature, of flame. And the gutters gasped, and the rain slapped until it made sparks when it hit. And down the panes like a waterfall, the cadence … Continue reading

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‘slowdive’

It is the time of moody records and blankets, and nearly the time of candles. Though there’s late afternoon sun it doesn’t have the same warmth and it’s wet, the ground smells, the earth sighs: and we are all holding … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 21 Comments

Rainer Maria Rilke made me write this

The afternoon sky looks pregnant but it’s too early to tell. And the tall trees reach to tickle its belly with stick fingers drawn by a kid. The dishwasher and drier are running, and there’s a pot on the stove … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments

My name is Bill

I tried to step outside of my name, to look at it objectively. It was a plain name, handed down from my dad—and to him, from his father. It was like all the other things that get handed down, the … Continue reading

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Near to fall

And so at last it was done, the book of poems I spent all summer with it seemed. They weren’t my poems, but became mine more and more each day. I sat on a chair in the grass and put … Continue reading

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments