Tag Archives: prose

A fair way to go

It is the hour of 4, and the light is best for where I sit on the chaise-lounge, beside the scabby hot tub that’s been dry all summer. The hot tub is kaput because the large fir popped up the … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

How the house felt after the kids left for summer camp

Outside it was warm and the lupine stalks were bending down, some on their faces like mollusks gumming the ground but not making it very far, frozen mid-suck. The dog smelled bad, a telltale bad like she’d rubbed herself in … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, parenting, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Hero’s pose

We waited and waited but it didn’t seem like the marine layer would ever burn off. Lily had a date with a boy we hadn’t met named Colin, and I texted her to come outside so we could talk. And … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, parenting, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Stopping to pay the toll on the road to self

At times there seemed to be so much beauty I couldn’t convey it, and at other times it evaded me for weeks or for months, for what seemed like forever. I sensed a link between my seeing the beauty and … Continue reading

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Moss petting in Portland

I went back to Portland, and it was the same as it always was. We got behind the quadriplegic at the neighborhood wine take out and the clerk put her bottles on the back of her buggy in a basket … Continue reading

Posted in humor, identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Down stellar stream

The rain is hypnotic like the static on the black and white TV I used to fall asleep to growing up. It was my first digital-assisted relaxation, when the programming ended and the Star-Spangled Banner played, and then it all … Continue reading

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Song for April, the draw down

How the sky draws down, this time of year, when it’s newly spring: there is no urgency to its ending, not like fall or winter: it is the start of the long days of haplessness, the spooling out of light, … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments