Dawn is a grey cat. Watch: even the frost-limned leaves Barely make a stir.
Little Pink Riding Hood
It's raining outside- that heavy Chicago late-summer rain that ruins shirts and hairdos, knocks down branches and floods gutters and sewers. All along Belmont, folks huddle in doorways, pressed against buildings and hopping from shelter to shelter. A hat rolls by in the street, with a young man in skinny jeans chasing it. Inside, The … Continue reading Little Pink Riding Hood
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I broke into Grandma Marie’s old house with my girlfriend, but the man falling out of a hole in thin air to land at our feet wasn’t it. "Look, man, I'm sorry, we thought the place was empty." It sounds inane. No, mundane, like men fall at … Continue reading Curtain
Under the reaching pines
Before sunset, I light a fire. Word after word I feed into the flames. Words like stay, and more, and please. The air is full of them: embers striving to be stars. I feed your name into the fire as well, every syllable a promise. The trees thrust grasping fingers into the sky to draw … Continue reading Under the reaching pines
The porch light is off, and for a minute I think maybe they thought I wasn't coming home tonight. But then I hear the soft plucked notes of Inay’s guitar. She’s sitting on the porch swing in the near-dark. Between the living room window and the streetlamp, there’s just enough light to make out her face … Continue reading Anchors