Tana French writes compelling stories, stories that are hard to put down. Years ago I read one of her earlier novels and found it to be enthralling and entertaining, but ultimately disturbing when I realized how unreliable the narrator was. I wasn’t sure I wanted to read another of her books, but I took a chance on … Continue reading The Witch Elm, a review
To finish off our National Poetry Month celebration, I offer a more recent creation of mine. Thanks for reading! I made that girl, but is she grateful? No. True, I drove her to the edge of consciousness dumped her on a shore peopled with past failures and traumas, to the lip of a river … Continue reading My Insomnia Gossips About Me Behind My Back
Another original poem for National Poetry Month! This week's offering is a tale of my California childhood, back when the rain was plentiful enough that we'd often watch the winter river rising against the side of the levee. Life on the Flood Plain Nestled in the south elbow of the levee we are sheltered … Continue reading Life on the Flood Plain
Another classic poem of mine for National Poetry Month. Flow She rises through silt and sand seeps through cracks in asphalt to suckle fox tails and dandelions sprouting wild on levee roads. Her power courses through me like moon pulling water to sea rushing by pear orchards carving jagged leaf veins in my belly … Continue reading Flow
April is National Poetry Month! I've dug down deep for this one, written for my Mom at least 30 years ago when she was the age that I am now. For My Mother and Other Collectors of Strays I want you to contradict me. When I shiver in my cavernous apartment complaining that autumn … Continue reading For My Mother and Other Collectors of Strays
I think I can say without fear of contradiction that this has been a weird year. And hey!--suddenly, it's Easter again. It feels rather surreal. Like many people, I have done very little to celebrate holidays during the pandemic. That's okay; I'm all for downsizing the fuss and nonsense and commercialization. Truth be told, I … Continue reading Easter Greetings/Pandemic Edition
Imagine a world where suddenly and inexplicably the sick and injured begin to emit light. Open wounds shine like flash lights, acne sparkles like glitter, leukemia patients shimmer and glow, and muscle tension can be seen “twisting like algae in an underwater current.” This is the stunning phenomenon that drives Kevin Brockmeier’s The Illumination. Though labeled a novel, … Continue reading The Illumination, a review
I wrote this piece with my Thursday night group. I changed most of the prompts, but perhaps you may still recognize them: the child, September, denigration, breakage, loss of youth, rust, crawling sickness, an obstacle, aberration, there are layers, no one was ready, nostalgic, January, time’s fun when you’re having flies, a blessing, apple tree, green shirts, … Continue reading The Child’s Notebook
i Blades not sharp or brutal but tender and yielding to the weight of my bare feet sprout on this thin layer of soil that hugs the Donegal coast. I grasp a clump of green shoots in my fist: does that make it mine or does it belong to a middle-aged man with a piece … Continue reading Immigrant
I wrote this with a prompt that urged me to speak with the Sun. That reminded me of Frank O'Hara's "Talking to the Sun on Fire Island." I think O'Hara's sun was a bit more cordial than mine was; I'll need to work on my relationship with our resident star. But for today, this is … Continue reading The Sun Speaks
