One day — a childhood day, a day quite possibly a year long or more — I discovered that our old blue boat was gone, and another boat, a simple, plain one made of aluminum, had taken its place. This new boat, I soon learned, was much easier for my father to pick up and slide on and off the padded runners he’d made for our pickup. He didn’t have […]
A sailor on my mother’s hip, sailing in the mother ship, through the kitchen, down the hall — I was that many years old. Now she’s gone — or so I’m told. She didn’t like our old blue boat. I remember once her calling it an egg crate. I loved the term. A faded wooden vessel twelve feet long, with bright-white eggs several deep packed in tightly all around, and […]
Sleep is a boy fishing on the last day of summer — then school begins. Fishing I am fishing now, in a stream that has followed me down from the big sky at night, muddy and rippled with stars. My shoes are dreaming on a rock, full of fine wet sand. My clothes have begun to doubt me, but my hat is a mile wide, a meadow yawning in […]
William Michaelian 