You know the Simon & Garfunkel album, Bookends? It’s got “America” and “Mrs. Robinson” and “At the Zoo” and is still one of my favorite albums ever. Such an odd record, so peopled with varied subjects and personas. Actually, I was listening pretty obsessively to this album when I began writing poetry, and when I think back … Continue reading »
Today is the start of National Poetry Month and my dad’s birthday. In the spirit of shaking things up, namely the silence in which I’ve been nestling/cocooning myself, I’m going to write something about something here every day for a month. First, my dad is 60 today. He has spent the last two or three … Continue reading »
My parents have been away for three weeks, so I haven’t been spending time in Englewood. Actually, it’s been a while since Dad and I had our routine what with Ryan’s wedding and my vague insanity. Yesterday, though I had the world’s worst hangover (which I’m actually known for because I don’t metabolize alcohol well—and … Continue reading »
A burned car left in a field of sassafras, the long green shoots through the windows and doors where no doors remain. The kids don’t come by after school to carve their names on the dashboard or pull the steering wheel to avoid the inevitable. Rocks, tires, cases of empties, and old couch sagging into … Continue reading »
I skipped painting with Dad this week as I was trying to get ready for my tenant to move in. I felt both sad and, if I’m being honest, relieved to have the break. It’s stressful trying to simultaneously enjoy our time together and give Dad some stimulation. Last time I saw my folks was last … Continue reading »
Me: Painting is hard, Dad! Dad: Especially for someone with Alzheimer’s. Me: What’s going on inside your head? Dad: You mean with Alzheimer’s? Me: Yes. Dad: It’s sad. Not quite sad. it’s… [long pause] Me: Frustrating? Dad: Yeah! I can’t do or say things that I want to. ** Turns out Dad’s really a better … Continue reading »
