freewriting blasphemy

(Recently, I asked my students to experiment with freewriting…just letting words roll out from wherever they come. So, I thought I would do the same.) I don’t feel like being metaphorical or creative or moving this morning. I want to get on with the day, but it’s already here. Somehow, I get into it without … More freewriting blasphemy

life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

In two inches of shitty water. Plunging the drain in the basement. Over and over again. Wads of hair. Toilet paper. Band-aids. Pieces of foil. Rubber bands. Bits of unidentifiable things built up over years, even long before we got here.  It splashes me. It stinks. But it’s nearly midnight and I’m not losing this … More life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

twelve years into it

The sky threatened for hours. Light, then dark. Light, then dark. Light, then an expanse of dull gray, puffed up and floating above the big lake and our little town. The rain, mostly unpredictable sprinkles, came and went. Came and went. But we welcomed the day, and we were happy.  This was yesterday. Our anniversary. … More twelve years into it

The 45th Parallel

(from the opening of Black) We are halfway between the equator and the North Pole. At least that’s what the sign says alongside the road. It is big and green with white block lettering and it is mounted to two eight by eights that are cemented into the ground. Anyone traveling US 23, the single … More The 45th Parallel

sunday morning storm

Up to the city siren and out of bed quickly to survey the situation. As if there’s anything I could do to save us. The fierce wind drives waves of rain. Trees and wires sway. Lawn chairs tumble across the yard. Bird feeders swing wildly on their hooks. A garbage can rolls down the street. … More sunday morning storm

no hands

A twelve-year-old girl keeps a sunfish in a bucket for days. One she caught while camping. She feeds it bits of leftover burger. Dried worms from the sidewalk. Poor, stupid moths that bang against her bedroom window. And ants. The sunfish floats. Surrounded by white walls. Under a narrow shaft of light. The big sky … More no hands

a simple particle

I think more people should write privately. Keep journals. Scribble away on scrap paper getting their thoughts straight, pouring out their guts, discussing what eats them up, inspires them, makes them happy or sad. People should do this every day. Once in the morning before they enter their daily life. And once at night before … More a simple particle

the paradigm

The month is wrapping up. Not that it matters much. Dates in boxes. Pages with pictures. Calendars quantifying our existence. Making other days more important than others. Conditioning us for deadlines and expectations, so that we conform.  Time is a construct. I am not 47. I am one and I am one-hundred. I’m yesterday and … More the paradigm