White translucent balloon
lost from a child’s delight
skips freely for a moment
along the sandy landscape
draws pattern on the wind.
Sapphire sky backdrops
its wild frolic.
Time shifts. Afternoon light
kindles the beach bright umber.
This is my story of the summer of 1949. I was 9, chubby, not too athletic or to be more honest not athletic, but doted upon by many assorted aunts, maternal and paternal, and, of course, by my mother. I worshipped my fourth grade...
Before the onset of age and arteries
breakfasts were freewheelin’ affairs
runny sunny-side-up eggs on a stack
with crispy bacon and greasy home fries
buttered white toast and java black
heated debates with friends and foes
Southampton, Majors Path, age 5: Sunday late afternoons Dad would lift me onto his bike and pedal through long green lanes to Sip ’N’ Soda, where we’d lick matching banana cones. Wet creamy fruit on our tongues,...
It seemed like a good idea at the time, if not a little bizarre; things were getting worse with Mother.
When we wheeled her to the park, the only thing that made Mom smile was the sight of children,...
Some days I plod a measured mile
Of graying asphalt road
To keep old arteries from closing
Or force new ones open.
I’d rather not look ahead
To still distant markers
But at the dirty white sideline,
Worn down to randomly regular...