I finally replaced our basketball netwith a brand new ultra-white version of hope—imagined us shooting hoops again soon,defying the athletic limits of age. Who knows, I said, the kids might returnand we’d show their children how to play "Horse,"—who's first to get a hoop for each letter—and time could stall like the arc of the… Continue reading Which Way Is the Past?
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” Ernest Hemingway, “A Farewell to Arms” A century of apples broke its back— in the dappled shade, that farthest tree— the trunk lies horizontal in the grass, too weak, for now, to battle… Continue reading The Old Apple Tree
I sit in a garden suspended in time until a hooded oriole bids farewell,his song in couplets settlinglike soft rain or night fog on the shivering spikes of moor grass,on the gingko’s yellowing leaves,on the silver branchesof this receding day. His requiem falls on my shoulders,the pages of my book, the foldsin my cotton dress.… Continue reading Requiem for a Season
Words carved on an antique box: J.A. Egen, Prisoner of War, Burt's Island, Bermuda, November 11, 1901 What proof do we need of existence? Sometimes only a carved letter box inlaid with lilies, the corners coupled in half-blind dovetails. A box chiseled by a prisoner of war, a South African Dutchman who fought the British… Continue reading Inside an Old Wooden Box