First Encounter

Waves bob into peaks and points

this October afternoon,

and beneath is harder sand.

Gulls swoop

the cold bay’s jetties,

dropping littlenecks to break them apart,

to feed before winter.

Concrete bleached gray, the duneside parking lot

is windswept and empty, except for

rustling clothes, cold jeans

against motionless legs rooted in docksiders. 

Hands closed in sweaty fists, pockets

of warmth against the chill.

You might read pain, an unnamed sadness.

A deteriorating

battleship rusts to ribs eight miles away.

We pushed the Indians

from here and out, but I am comforted,

these stories without “I”, life without me,

triumphs in off-

seasons.

Flash Fiction Chronicles Interview

I was floored to see such a positive response when my short story, "Strikethrough," was published by EveryDayFiction.com .  It was selected as the top story for the month of June, and as a result, I was interviewed by the site's blog Flash Fiction Chronicles.  Please take a minute to check it out, I had a great time doing it, and the interviewer, Thomas Jay Rush, did a great job as well.

You can view the article HERE

Why They Can Call My Mother "Mary"

 

Larry’s knuckles were bitten,

sometimes scratched, to bone,

scabs never healing before a fresh bite,

skin screaming to be picked.

He must have drunk liters

of his own blood, slowly,

in thirty-eight years

of stunted, aimless walking. 

Here tonight, with the rest

of Mom’s “Group,” to bowl. 

My brother and I sit, avoiding eyes,

embarrassed for the ragged shuffles,

awkward laughs – the gutterball

evening.  Mom gets up

as Larry selects a ball.

She reaches for slumped shoulders

and positions him to roll.

She covers those torn hands

with her own, to help him.