RSS Feed

Superbowl Party

Posted on

Whenever I think of moving away, choosing a different life, another thing happens inside this small town. At halftime, the men and boys head back to the kitchen for more chicken wing dip and stromboli and chocolate truffles shaped like tiny footballs. Only the women stay with Beyonce, our mouths hanging open, all of us reminiscing about the year it was Springsteen.

Outside, snow keeps falling hard. And despite  the many mistakes I’ve made, this is where I raised my children. So even now, in the middle of the storm, none of us is far from home.

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

%d bloggers like this: