Perceptions of New York
Like it or not, New York is in our ether. Many songs, plays, books, and films perpetuate the allure of New York. I recently visited Manhattan to explore its mystique and not spend too much on accommodation. Before travelling I decided it would be wise to know which of the three airports I was going to arrive at: John F. Kennedy, La Guardia, or Newark Liberty International. I landed at Newark and took a bus to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It also helps to know the street grid system; I stayed at 59 West 46 Street, which is off Times Square. “An Englishman in New York,” by Sting, is...
Read MoreMy Brother, Cyril
(1951-1981) In the early part of an evening of our lives, my brother and I felt like we were trapped in a net made of glue. New Orleans humidity was the same as the temperature: ninety. After we drank some cheap wine, I noticed he had drifted off to sleep with ashes hanging from fifty percent of his cigarette. The breeze coming from the window was cool; he sneezed. I went to cover him with a blanket, and of course, put the cigarette out, but the ashes fell to the floor and dissipated at the wind’s command. I threw the blanket over him, put what was left of his ashed cigarette in the...
Read MoreDown Home: Earl’s Barbershop
I went strolling down memory lane recently, sopping up memories like a warm biscuit in pot liquor. This part of the lane is in the town where I grew up, a small southern town near Dallas, not unlike Mayberry, North Carolina. I suspect there were a few housewives — though I didn’t know any — who washed their fine china and cleaned the parlor wearing pearls and starched aprons. It was peer pressure from June Cleaver at its prettiest. Most of the locals were Southern Baptist, who, at the time of his unleashing, thought Elvis was the antichrist. There were realists like...
Read MoreKeeping and Letting Go
Let go of everything but the baby. Keep what needs you; the rest will keep. Let go of meaning, time, and money — keep the soft currency of sleep. Let go of jobs, hobbies and any keepsakes with an expensive shape. Let go of friends, ambitions, and worry. Keep your left hand free to wipe. Let go of music, museums, and history; keeping her close is your only hope. Let going wait until she’s ready — keep disappointing the urge to grow up. Passion...
Read MoreNature Morte
A goblet of Ruby ichor, Immortal quiet. A long-necked Jug, bedizened With golden straw. Peasant’s summer plenty: Bread, terrene-tan, Green figs a-split, Vulnerable. Basket’s silent meekness. Dried sea anemones, Stiff above. A pied nautilus, Fluted clamshell, Perlucent sheath. A starfish, Dessicated. Desperate. Groping for the wet. All still. Still, life. Still life. Passion...
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