Tag Archives: prose

The soul dies first

At the end of it, the wick is either cut too short or it’s so long, it falls on its side and can’t stand up, won’t light. And so much wax left, in the shape of what remains. This body … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Twilight September

In the late afternoon shadows, by the underlit leaves, near a tree bent by the weight of its own fruit…in the breeze between summer and fall: there, in the crook of a bush by a rock I spied a colored … Continue reading

Posted in parenting, poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 15 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

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 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

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

The Oxford comma

Dawn said there’s a cheaper treatment for lice, where you just put mayonnaise on your head and tie it off in a bag and then wait a couple hours, and they die from the oils. I learned about the Oxford … Continue reading

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

Lines (of longitude and latitude)

Though the tree is dead, it’s home to a lot of bugs, birds and bats, you can tell by the holes. It’s like the abandoned factory across the street from our apartment in Philadelphia that became home to the homeless, … Continue reading

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments