Messages from Trouble

The blog category I least like checking is “angst,” yet angst has always been one of the chief motives behind my writing.
I’m not proud to say so. If I’m absolutely honest, I’d much rather read work that—at least sometime—promises mild weather instead of future storms, earthquakes, and suffering. The writer who relies [...]

Born in February

A winter fly loops over their table,
a mad orphan signing air,
wondering why his wriggling birth
didn’t make him more visible.
Who will read him now,
when snow nearly stills the world,
and he and she are kitchen statues?
Their eyes rest on anger less delicate
than flight.  Their faces won’t take in life,
ready to call its dare.

What Males Need to Know

I’ve been struggling with a tough assignment the last few days. On Thanksgiving, Cole at BlahBlahBlah lost her friend Gail Pumphrey and her children David, Megan, and Brandon when Gail’s abusive ex-husband shot them with a rifle and then committed suicide.
Cole wrote,
In these last few days there have been [...]

“Sorry” Isn’t Enough

You don’t hear the expression “sackcloth and ashes” much these days. From the Book of Daniel, the expression refers to the custom of wearing crude material and covering yourself with ash to express humility at a religious ceremony. Its colloquial meaning, however, is to be publicly penitent, to be [...]

Playing the Parent

For me the toughest part of being a parent is separation, dividing my children’s tragedies and triumphs from my view of myself. I’m particularly beset because I teach at their school, and my proximity makes me witness to their daily performances and the recipient of good and bad news that travels like [...]

The Other Me

I never feel anger without regret.
It’s a simple formula—I lose my temper and disappointment floods in behind it. For a few moments I can believe my indignation is righteous, deserved, justified, healthy. The object of my anger had it coming and, in fact, needed it. Besides, shouldn’t I be allowed to [...]

Haiku Sonnet: Before Dawn

A startled crow cries
once as the neighbor’s baby
wakes to map walls
between our houses
with his angry sonar—our
comfort sticks like tar
in our throats, and we
turn deeper into dreaming
these hours—dusk’s mirror—
will breed no evil.
The child cries for solace, too
impatient to wait
or hope.  We have just dawn—and
love for the child—to guide us.

In Memoriam: Liam Rector

I’ve spent the last two hours trying to write something about Liam Rector, who committed suicide last week. A poet and the director of the Bennington Writing Seminar, Liam was my teacher during my final semester at Bennington when I prepared my thesis manuscript and graduate lecture.
I’ve struggled, however, [...]

The Air Raid Show

Last week, at a preliminary meeting held by the athletic director of our school, he offered some advice. “Coaches should be careful of what they do,” he said, “people hear your actions more than your words.” Hardly news, but a good reminder.
The Air and Water Show comes to North Beach in [...]

Haiku Sonnet: An Argument in Lincoln Park

The trees’ reflections
break into green islands
in the gray pond—he’s
throwing stones as he
yells at her—the “You’s” shot
from the other bank
echo with the plunk
of stones dropping from the air.
Their report fills all
the space here. Instead
of listening, she stares at the pond,
reassembling sky
from the ruined mirror and
imagining gentler rain.