Can the tangible capture the ephemeral? Do the things we love keep our memories? Can a treasured object give a fleeting dream a fragment of immortality? Do the things we love hold our devotion to those we leave behind? Will my pen retain my ardor for words after I’m gone? Does this chair remember my ass? Does this bright blue canvas hold onto the younger behind that sat in it when its material was new? Or does it record the rounder and squishier derriere that occupies its now faded hue? And when I’m gone, and the chair is even more faded and frayed will those who sit in it then, will they feel me? Does a thing remember the me… READ MORE
Category: Fiction Fret
“Rocks ahead!” List then keel I tie myself to the wheel “The rocks—we must avoid the rocks!” Distractions: to do lists, grocery lists, lists of lists My ill-crafted vessel lists. Dinner menus, family schedules, work deadlines. I check. I tick. Appointments, Board Meetings, promises on which to deliver My ill crafted vessel keels I check. I tick. Take the pills, inject the medication, research the cure— “The rocks!” Manuscripts, bank statements, partnership agreements The flotsam of my life Bobs in the waves. I float above the dark waters. I am list-less. In darkness. Daylight never saves. I will lose this.
Today my fingers cooperate if only there were more thoughts for my digits to dig down into. “Three thoughts, one mouth,” I say to buy a few seconds, to organize the bursting box cars into a forward moving train. Full stop. I am at a railroad crossing. Waiting for others to pass. Waiting. I scroll past notions and fragments, hunting a phrase worth polishing. I am here. Where are you? Who will help polish this rough carbon matter to a diamond? I am here for today’s loss of fingers, of words, of ideas to shape them. And I will show up tomorrow and the day after that. And one day I will be present to win.
“I don’t think that you enjoy anything until you’re good at it,” says one of my oldest friends, trying to entice me to move out of the children’s ski area. It is the spring of 2000, that sweet spot in the aughts. The fears about the turn of the new century have fizzled and September 11th hasn’t rocked our world yet. My junior high school buddy and I are in beautiful Lake Tahoe for a long weekend. Each of us is negotiating one of life’s many curveballs; me a divorce, he a law firm move. Neither of us has ever been to Tahoe so we meet there to retreat and rejuvenate – and try something new. Lake Tahoe is the… READ MORE
I’m sorry I’ve aged. That gravity has taken its toll on my tits. That my metabolism has slowed and my discipline waned. I’m sorry that my brow furrows more and that my laugh lines appear regardless of my humor. I’m sorry that my standards grow higher as my ass lowers. I’m sorry that you think I should actually apologize for the aforementioned. In truth, I’m not sorry. Sure, there are days when, at a stoplight it’s a tough call; do I yank out an errant grey hair from my scalp or a witchy stray from my chin. Naturally, I wish that workouts were as effective and easy-to-recover from as they a decade ago …. I’d love to have gained the… READ MORE