When I was fifteen, I showed my sophomore English teacher several of my very first poems, which I had written out by hand. He read them eagerly at his desk and said, “Bill, this is poetry,” as if nothing in the world could have pleased him more. He was twenty-four, had just begun his teaching career, and, in the revolutionary spirit of the times, liked to experiment in his class […]
This drawing and poem came into being one year ago today. They were published separately on Recently Banned Literature, and subsequently shared on Facebook. Canvas 960 is one of my favorites. But I feel that way about a good many of my drawings, especially after I’ve forgotten them, which I almost always do, and then happen upon them again. Old friends? New? Both. All. and this is the world […]
The distance between our farm and the next town was about eight miles. There was a place by the railroad tracks there where we bought hundred-pound sacks of three-grain and chicken feed. Opening a new sack of either was like opening a can of coffee: it was impossible to inhale enough of the simple-complex aroma. But how long has it been since we had goats and chickens? Let’s see . […]
My mother grew sweet alyssum in the bed by the porch. That is my childhood. There is more, of course. Her birthday on the Fourth. And the force that transformed us. Mind gone, her body a torch. Mine gone, to alyssum. And a smile that could be a rainbow, or door. A limb to sing from? A wind chime? A breeze? An arch?
When the all-pervasive scent from the grass seed fields enters the house, it is transformed into a ghost. For instance, if you visit a particular room in search of needle and thread, as soon as you enter you are sure you are not alone, or that someone was there before you and is about to return. I say transformed, but how, and by what? Does it work the magic itself, […]
