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I Don’t Like This Poem
I don’t like this poem. It wandered away from me, Like a dog off its leash Free to explore the neighborhood unsupervised, While I was sitting here wishing I could write like King David or W. H. Auden...
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Comforters
She can’t see very well anymore. He’s deaf. It’s been fifteen years since she poured her own cup of coffee: her shaking hands and tired eyes make it hard. He does it for her, (two sugars, a bit of...
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Common Cathedral
On Sunday mornings, we find ourselves at the laundry mat with the faithful, trying to get things clean. It occurs to me that they are the best and the worst of us all at once: doing the best we can,...
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