Category: Writing
-
The Will
“Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death, And again death, death, death, death . . .” – Walt Whitman, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking Have heard sermons in the shape of waiting. Have wondered if God meant everything created as if creating always has a purpose. Have seen change in passing /witnessed…
-
Totem
On the black bull with curved horns a pudgy little man sits cross-legged Control of passions, my father said. A girl and boy take turns somersaulting over bulls, placing hands on the back flipping between the horns. Playing with danger, my mom said. Another voice calls, Come here, says Selene, the bull-horned moon…
-
Saucerie Sonnet
“No,” you stopped me. “Don’t wash the pan. Pour off the grease all but a loving spoonful, scrape the grizzly scraps loose, add herbs, a little wine or coconut milk, you’ll have a sauce, the remains will sing like a choir. “Don’t toss everything away, just the ballast, the dead stuff. Select notes will…
-
Going Home
Neither of them knew the time. Rita could feel the heat of the afternoon sun gliding across the back of her neck and figured it must be getting late. She adjusted her hold on the orange cat, and turned away from the porch, towards Sal. “I got him,” she called. Her lips parted into the…
-
St Modomnóc
A Byr a Thoddaid Dear sweet wee Saint Dominic went To Wales, to David’s See, and spent Some years in study, on his knees in prayer, And caring for the bees. Such care as bishops show their flocks Modomnóc showed his bees. He’d talk Words sweet as mead. It makes bees thrive full well,…
-
At World’s Edge
On the edge of the world, an old man had built his house. This house, of old brick, dark wood, and clay tiles of burnt orange, was naught more than a lean-to, though it served his purposes well. In fact, it could hardly be called a lean-to, as it had nothing upon which to lean.…
-
Angel of the Battlefield
I’m decidedly old-fashioned, wearing an apron and a smile as I cross the road to greet the new neighbors. Between oven mitts, I hold a freshly-baked pie, the pan still hot. My hair is done up high and tied with a ribbon. It’s all going so well, my fifties fantasy, until, from the bowels of…
-
Looking Glass Theory
It seemed like the right thing to do, to scan the alcohol first, since the girl was standing right there, at her station, barely six feet away. Beep. She came right over. “I.D.?” Ridiculous; but Bruce showed her without making the joke. “Cool…” she said. She tapped the date into the device hanging from…
-
Last Adventure with Ray Mundo
On the first day after our schools broke up for the summer, Ray Mundo called for me early in the morning. When I opened my front door, the first thing he said was, “Are we still best friends forever, Queen Isabella?” “Our bond can’t be broken, noble Ray Mundo,” I said. “What new adventure do…
