The Whistler on Harris Hill
Spoken by One Who Didn’t Listen People around Elmira tell the story different ways, but it always starts on the north side, where the Chemung drags slow through town and the hills decide who they’re going to notice.
West on I-88
A Vigil for My Father We keep watch so love has company in the dark. West on I-88 I. Westbound West on I-88, the hills lean close, fog stitched along their backs like something unfinished.
The Brass Ring
A remembrance at Eldridge Park in Elmira, NY At the edge of the hills, where the air holds the scent of mown grass and river wind, a diamond-shaped field gathers the last of the sun. Dad laces his cleats,
The Old Home Streets
On ol' Lincoln Street I’ve often thought if I could go, Down Lincoln Street the old folks know, I’d find again that battered door, The cracked front step, the maple floor.
The Boys of Lincoln Street
Five Small Legends from a Long Summer Preface Lincoln Street was the whole world once - cracked asphalt for outfields, maples for scoreboards, and porch fans humming like crowds in the stands. We were kings with gloves for crowns and pockets full of gum and luck. Every bruise was a medal, every laugh a victory parade. These poems remember that world - not just the games, but the friendship stitched between them. The way we faced down winters with courage, and each other with grins. The way one missed catch could become a myth. The way a single…
