The Usher and My Father - 2022
On Lincoln Street I sat... book open, heart open, summer sun leaning through the window, time thick as molasses in a jar.
If I Could Call You Now
To Dad This morning I woke up with your name sitting in my throat, like something I meant to say yesterday but forgot to get out.
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.
That Old Zenith
Ozone blues and the hands that tried. We had that old Zenith laid open on its back - wires exposed, glass tubes rising out of it like something living.
The Brass Ring
A remembrance at Eldridge Park in Elmira, NY By the time the game ended, Dad’s socks were red with infield dust and the lights over the ballfield had already started buzzing on.
Before the Last Amen
No one spoke. The clock ticked once and seemed to think better of it. Evening settled in the room like someone taking a seat to hear what would happen next.
The Trickster Queen of Lincoln Street
I never trusted bedtime when my mother smiled. That was the tell - the softening of her voice, the way she sounded already halfway out of the room.
A Son’s Farewell from a German Payphone - 1990
Germany in August smelled like wet stone and cigarettes, the kind of damp that slips down your collar and stays. Even the light looked tired.
