today, i want to be in guana state park. traversing the winding trails through the ancient forest where rattlesnakes sleep under palmetto fronds, and low spots are tar baths for boar. above me, banana spiders menacingly hang between the pines and oaks. floating there, stationary against the sky. waiting. waiting. past the river, around a pond, across A1A, and through the oat-covered dunes to where the golden shore opens up and slides into the sapphire sea. but instead, I’ll help turn the…
Pat Morita lives in my head. I visit him every day. After I get up and have coffee and brush my teeth. After I take the kids to school. And after another cup of coffee, I don my brown jacket walk across the street and knock on his door. He never answers, so I just go in. It’s a courtesy knock. It’s dark inside. The blinds are pulled. Time to write, he says from out of the darkness. So…
She gets onto the bus and forgets about me. Immersed in a different world filled with friends, and social media, and talking about middle school things. When she returns in the afternoon, I ask her about her day. Fine, she says flipping her hair back like she always does. Why do you want to know how my day was? she thinks. School is boring and I don’t want to have to relive it for your benefit. Just fine? I ask…
The dirty window stays closed With just enough light coming through The blonde girl sits Maybe about six With colored paper laid out And crayons all about Drawing people Holding hands Hugging each other Starting to dance All smiles All laughter No hatred Where nothing matters Not our races Not our religion Not our faces Not our opinion Where everyone is kind And everyone is caring And everyone is sharing In this small little crayon world A poem by my daughter, Agatha…
Spring is sneaking in on little cat feet. Stealing from me as it comes. It started a few weeks ago after one of the first 70 degree days in Charlotte after what’s seemed like a decade in the 30s and 40s. I lost my favorite long-sleeve shirt. One of the shirts that live for few months outside of a plastic tub in the attic. I searched everywhere. Gone. Oh well, I’m getting old. You lose things when you’re old. Then we went to…
That time rushing to your daughter’s school to deliver an “egg drop” vessel for science that she left on the kitchen table wasn’t on the list. And you learn that she doesn’t need what you brought, after all. And so you watch the last few minutes of the experiment amongst excitable, untainted young humans. And you think you could spend an hour writing about the ten minutes you just spent in such a glorious environment. And as you walk away she shouts…
