Tag Archives: childhood
Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. Anya and I were seated on the rubber mat in the front hallway. We had been playing marbles. Or rather our own version of marbles, which we called Marble Mash. After having … Continue reading
In childhood’s kingdom, grace-slicked glee and romp– winter moon watching.
I dumped all my G.I. Joes out of the shopping bag and onto the pavement of the driveway. I separated the good guys from the bad guys, and then arranged them in specific positions. Before initiating a battle, or an … Continue reading
Spiritual keys? Horses circling Childhood’s glee to enter heaven.
Summer in Brooklyn, hydrant dreaming in graffiti– legends of childhood.
With the grave mortal nearness that only distance can bring, we enter the bruised, secret heart of our childhood, a stalker’s negative proof, slow-burned to exposure and fade.
Excerpt from Nocturne Variations When Piers was six she fell into a well. The well was abandoned and no longer had any water in it. If there would have been water in it, Piers would have drowned. Sometimes she’d imagine … Continue reading
Childhood, as a static port or fixed constellation, remains an ongoing historical fiction, in which small deaths, consigned to witnesses, inevitably breed the shadows of regeneration.
(Poem written in response to Joe Sorren’s “While the Trucks on the Highway All Howl”) While the trucks on the highway all howl, beneath a milk-bottle sky, Sunday’s children, curious and bulb-headed, lay vigorous claim to Paradise. Non-profit architects, they … Continue reading