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. That old Zenith sat like a dark-faced preacher, its back peeled open - a small cathedral of wire and light.
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 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.
