Tag Archives: Pablo Neruda

Catching up with Pablo

At the end of a long day I cleaned myself in the back yard with Pablo Neruda, setting him down on my stomach, rubbing my eyes the way you would a catcher’s mitt, breaking it in. And I remembered a … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 13 Comments

A jarful of days

In the corner of my yard in the mid-afternoon heat in my hammock with Pablo Neruda between my legs, my glasses off, bare-chested and unbathed, I think about death: my body a lump in a sack swinging here: all this, … Continue reading

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