Four-Thirty On my way home the day he died I stopped at the store. Or the gas station, or the bank, I don’t remember now. The street corner, I remember, but I forget the business. I closed my car door, and glanced at my watch – 4:30 p.m. I wouldn’t make it home in time. […]
DIRT Beneath my Boychild’s fingernails, there is a trace of earth. Not quite enough to grow a seed, but it’s related. My manicure is also wrecked due to my love of dirt. I do have garden gloves somewhere, but I’m lazy.
feet, bare and winter-dry, meet the mat. good morning. thighs, cold and stiff, cannot forget the herb garden. arms, stretched and open, palms face up to hold the sun. heart, quiet and focused, open wide. namaste.