The night before I became a failed salesman, I was wired and awake in Derek’s room, gazing out his window, reading his Anatomy textbook, and eating peanut butter with a knife.
Dennis can’t believe Terry and I will give up a vacation day to visit the family cemetery, but once I convince him that I’m not kidding, there is silence on the phone.
It started innocently enough. A hike in the Oakland woods after a heavy rain. The ground still wet, the dense foliage sated and glistening. She hiked for exercise, to meditate, to escape the demands of a job in graphic design. It was a routine, an enjoyable way to recharge.
We left the pomegranates to leather in the back of the fridge,
Tried to put in some orchid purple yellow, and some coffee colored brown like my fingers I pricked helping with all her stichin.
I see God through greasy glass or is that last week’s potato I forgot—I am sick of potatoes with their many staring eyes—
On the writer’s doorstep of a large house overlooking the river, my father speaks to the housekeeper.
gladiolus gather in an attempt to deflower spring.
PHILADELPHIA, September 9, 2019—Philadelphia Stories celebrates its 15th anniversary with a gala event at the Cheltenham Center for the Arts (439 Ashbourne Road, Cheltenham, PA) on Saturday, November 16, 2019, from 7-10pm. The festivities will include a cocktail reception, live auction, art opening, and the release of The Best of Philadelphia Stories, 15th Anniversary Edition [...]