I’m writing this letter in the same place I do most of my writing, beside my favorite window in my home looking out onto our snowy little corner in Minneapolis. About 500 feet away from where I sit my yoga instructor guards the door of a beloved neighborhood taco spot. Nothing about this feels normal and nothing about this feels okay.
Read MoreI heard girl-chatter emerge behind me
and saw Linda, the blond cheerleader with
those agate-brown eyes, split off from her
friend and smile my way as she angled down
Black bodies dead sprinting
up and down the asphalt
joins with lovely cadence
808 of ball bounce
producing perfect tune
Read MoreIt’s the french press, icy sunrise,
6AM alarm still vibrating my teeth.
It’s epoxy fumes, see gloves and boots
as old gods gossiping by the sink.
Read MoreGamblers ignite more frenzy than players,
cigarette smoke disfigures the sky,
old men living among the relics
like prosperous fish, take hapless prey,
(not like the “entertainment venue”
that the game and frontón are part of today).
Read MoreFrozen in the middle of the trail,
blocking the end of my summer morning run
was a fox, holding in its mouth a rabbit—
Your slap shot is anthrax.
Your passes are filthy.
Your skating is swift and fluid.
Sabres fans say your name
as if in prayer—
I’m forgiving the money I loaned you,
my lifelong homie. Late on your alimony,
$2,400 in the hole, you’re poised to forfeit
Yeah,
here we go
Englishmen planted willow trees in Kashmir
a hobbyist’s investment of fine grains.
The life of a tree is not ornamental beneath the surface.
When I was a teenager, I got dropped on my head by my skating partner. The wail of the siren was muffled from inside the ambulance. Paramedics pelted me with questions I may or may not have answered correctly. My body and my brain were still in shock.
Read MoreI’ve heard that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But figure skating happens in curves and with edges sometimes called “lobes” shaped just like ears. An aerial view of a session would reveal an overlapping collection of arcs, swirls, curlicues, and loop-de-loops double-backing on themselves.
Read MorePlaying for the New York City Little League championship was a big deal for College Point, my part of Queens. Not much else to cheer about in the summer in 1966. Vietnam protests, transit strike, Yankees mired in last place. The hapless Mets! The Civil Rights Act had passed two years earlier but redlining was still legal.
Read MoreThe rink sounds older at night. Compressors hum behind the boards; edges hiss in tight half-moons; a stick taps twice—code, courtesy, warning. In Kladno, under low municipal light, number 68 leans over a defensive zone draw on the right dot.
Read MoreMay 26th, 2024, my father and I scroll mindlessly on TV and find a Cubs-Cardinals game on ESPN, teams neither of us care about but are broadcast here in the Chicago area. Watching is an easy way to while away the hour between now and dinner. Rain rages outside, and so Wrigley Field is rained out too.
Read MoreThe day Zach asked if we could listen to the song “Perfect Timing” started like most days in my third-hour Grade 11 English class.
“Shut up, Zach,” Caleb barked. “Shut up about ‘Perfect Timing’”.
Read More07:22
The nectar glow of sunrise infuses the horizon as the Jeep moves along the track, a plume of dust in its wake. Amani whistles in the driver’s seat. He has just run a new personal best. With four weeks left til Chicago it is exactly where he wants to be, tossing out records, making new ones.
Read MoreThe alumni arrived on Friday. They were everywhere at once, swarming the quad, pointing at the old-time buildings and bike paths like, would you look at that! In the two hours it took for football practice to finish (a packed schedule with the hitting drills, sled drives, and no-contact scrimmage), our campus was transformed into a refugee zone. Where my friends had walked before, now strangers. T
Read More"Hey, hero, you trying out for football?" Frank's father, Joe Merino, calls out from the TV room.
Joe must be kidding. Frank is only 12. He's also heavy, fat, what adults call a Husky. Mighty big. No wonder. Cooking's his favorite hobby. In fact, he's now busy frying burgers, as he usually does when Mom and Dad come back from weekly shopping at the A & P.
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