Tag: Autobiography

Strange Markers (4)

Eight years old, looking around a brand new restaurant. All around the high walls are watercolor paintings. Sailboats in summer. Horses running in winter. Nobody has to teach us to love drawings and paintings, we just do. Showing what we see, using only our hands, is kind of an amazing thing. Loving color, loving the … Continue reading "Strange Markers (4)"

Strange Markers (3)

Humans play thoughtlessly upon the edge of great waters, even the one called “death”. Twenty-three years old, though, and while everything was done thoughtlessly, those waters had, frankly, come to look pretty inviting. January morning, bitter cold, a storm due in. Walking, walking, mile after mile. Another year ahead, another seemingly pointless year. Thinking, at … Continue reading "Strange Markers (3)"

Strange Markers (2)

At age thirteen, not much makes sense, so the young heart clings to traditions, where meaning is felt, and does not therefore need to be explained. Often, all the adults see is the confusion, which manifests itself in discontent and anger, and not the clinging, or the searching, or the questions, most of which are … Continue reading "Strange Markers (2)"

Strange Markers (1)

Grew up in Florida, rarely even seen snow. Twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, working in Florida, sent for a two week class in Ohio. In December. Started snowing the day after arrival. Walking around on the weekend, cutting across fields through snow, headed towards town. Ice on the roads, ice in eyebrows and … Continue reading "Strange Markers (1)"

so often…

revisiting where i grew up, i walk along a starry beach: the gulf is gentle, welcoming, the moon seems within reach -- but childhood is not, i fear. so often, we remember the way things felt, not how they were. and so, this is blue december i will recall the world that was, and note, … Continue reading "so often…"

{ remarkable vacation }

the day was bright and bleached and we had traipsed across some parking lots: a melon scent was in the air, or maybe it was apricots — a breeze blew off the edge of sun, and made the swelter bearable, and you were wearing white and gold: some fabric barely wearable back to the rented … Continue reading "{ remarkable vacation }"

Blank Verse

The way I work is pointlessly obsessed, Extracting detail from the commonplace – To see the outline of what isn’t there: Projecting, pushing, prodding, putting on — Do you, friend, find reality too much? I must have my imaginings at times; I do believe that signs and stains are one, And we break habits, or … Continue reading "Blank Verse"