To Be Well Again

In 1861, as Abraham Lincoln left Springfield, Illinois for his first term as president, he made a speech from the train car about his “grave duty” and “the principle or ideal that has kept this Union so long together.”
With his characteristic eloquence and elegance, Lincoln says
Perhaps we have come to the dreadful day of awakening, [...]

The Madding Crowd

In the city every window
is a mirror. Watch closely,
you catch walkers looking.
She touches her hair.
He tugs his belt.
Their eyes linger as long
as the glass repeats them.
Amid the current of forms
is an expression they know,
affirmation they can’t resist
seeking. With the proper angle,
you might stand in their sight,
but something flickers in them—
a flame the slightest [...]

Another Chicago Monday

Even in the city, I still sometimes see
the color on color of sunset on wheat,
dying flames guttering on a patch of gold.
Here, the last sun on a steeple’s face
illuminates something far away.
You stand in gray. The air has another
quality chilled in its current
between buildings. It carries voices,
without authors, speaking sentences
with not one intelligible word.
But it’s [...]

A Eulogy for George Carlin

Perhaps my favorite George Carlin routine was his rant on “stuff.” As was often the case in his routines, he starts by alerting his audience to the absurdity of something and then, in a torrent of repetitions and distinctions, overwhelms you. By the end, he exhausts the word… and sometimes you.
Others are more [...]

Confessions of a Grade Inflater

Before assigning final grades, I steel myself for cusp numbers—each 76.3 and 89.5 and every other figure landing between A, B, C, and the oh-so-subtle levels of the letters. It’s absurd to think my year-end assessment accurate to the tenth, yet many students—particularly the most ambitious, hard-working, and conscientious ones—care deeply about that tenth.
I [...]

Chicago June

The day slows after a sleepless night,
and conversation arrives like whale song.
The watery lullaby reminds me—
we hear without words, we understand.
Outside leaves shift in a humid breeze
and the milky light of a summer morning.
Later the sun’s rays will burn unimpeded,
but now, a neighbor sits on his steps,
reads the paper, raising his head only
when air conditioners [...]

Oversharing Again

During my break from blogging, I’ve been thinking about blogging—more specifically why I do it and what I hope, however foolishly, to get from it. Part of what stirred my thinking was A New York Times Sunday Magazine article (“Exposed” by the former Gawker blogger, Emily Gould) and some thoughtful comments on Gould’s essay [...]

The Longest Line

I have a new philosophical question: when does the line to Starbucks begin?
Teaching at a city school means students can leave the building during the day, and often we leave at the same time. If I suspect they’re headed where I am—the Starbucks across the street and down the block—is it rude to [...]

Walking Home II

In the city, most noise
is something loose,
a part wanting freedom
from its body.
We’re free and pass
amid and inside these objects
trafficking sound.
Sun bounces from metal.
Wind stops at walls.
Our shadows take the angles
of buildings and sidewalks
they fall on, folding to fit.
And down the street,
brakes scream
as if one wheel meant to flee—
right now, its cry
the only audible lament.

Walking Home

At intersections
people gather
to await the light
The pauses
are ours
and each signal
releases us
in choreography
like tides
the flow of bodies
like tides
if we could set them
to obey moons
of our own
invention.