It had been his idea to go to the Holy Land. The Holy Land U.S.A., which was in Connecticut.
He calls me over with snapping fingers. Seeing as I tend bar, this is him being funny.
Claire and I used to spend our weekends shopping for cribs. She had the perfect one in mind, shaped like an airplane, with wings on the sides and a removable toy cockpit you could put in it, for the baby to play with.
As Arturo Burgos read the computer screen over his daughter’s shoulder, he let out a cry of anguish so sharp his wife came running into the room.
Ten minutes ago, Porter’s sequined schoolgirl skirt shot vanilla scented lightening across the club. I didn’t see where it landed.
For a while she left me waiting, leaning lightly on the little demi-lune table, its two ornate legs the claws of an animal, its blunt other side dependent on the wall beside the front door.
“Nurse!” I shout but it doesn’t carry far past the metal rail of my bed.
POETRY by AUTHOR
but there are these
fragments to consider
Like many Southerners, my father was a casually brutal man, but I learned over time to stand up to him. So maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that he asked my advice when his marriage with my mother ran afoul.
Philosophy class, and Professor Stevens was already talking at 8 A.M., shoving the hair away from his eyes, pacing and talking and not looking at anyone. Sartre again. Being and Nothingness, like it meant something what he was saying.