Tag Archives: prose

Wednesday’s twilight anthem

The Jupiter’s Beard is fanned-out pornographic in our front yard, exposed to the root. And the grass is so dead, it’s what Gregg Allman’s beard must have looked like before he died, the same gold-straw color, drawn out thick. It’s … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, musings, prose, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

Bikes, trailers, dogs, coolers: five days in Montana (some Wyoming)

Just like me, the moon’s gone plump from too many long nights and early mornings, hard to get into its jeans, and only noticed by fools and dreamers, the mad. The sky ran down from blue to pink to jack … Continue reading

Posted in prose, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

One window ajar, first light on Pine Lake

I sat outside under a tree with King Tubby playing on my Bluetooth speakers and crocosmia fronds tickling the air, the moon a half melon, the whites of my nails. Talked to my dad across the country, the sound of … Continue reading

Posted in musings, parenting, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Straw-colored grass, a bed of needles

The owl-eyed veterinarian talks too fast, wears her hair in a bun. The bun’s so tight it makes her eyes bulge. It’s always the same, we care about our dog and cat’s health, we start with good intentions. But her … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 29 Comments

You think that you can front when Revelation comes?

Well into the afternoon the house still smelled like bacon. I sat and watched the lawn sprinkler, tried to think about nothing. The last day in D.C. I got up at 6 and walked down to the White House, the … Continue reading

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

Love songs, prose, for the Pacific coast

How the clouds hung on the horizon off the water and made two lines, I thought they were grinding their teeth. All the mountains ground down from the pressure of the sky pushing on them and the earth, where they … Continue reading

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‘One more time around’

Now there’s a new sound in the back yard, the sound from the cottonwood leaves when the wind comes in from the west, and all those tiny hands clap, and remind me of the tide coming in or going out, … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, music, musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments