ID picture
PeachesI ate a peach the day you left. It was ripe, and I wasn’t expecting it to have so much juice, or I would have brought a napkin. I remember sitting on my porch steps, peach in hand, Neil Young singing out of the record player in the kitchen, wondering if maybe I had dreamed everything.Peaches
I think maybe I dreamed the day you first came up the sidewalk, swinging a baseball bat like you were seven years old. Your shirt was gray, and it was a little sweaty from the heat, and you were whistling. I was sitting on the steps, and I watched you pass, wondering where you could
WristsMy arms fell off today.Wrists
I was filling the big pot with water to make spaghetti. The pot was heavy with the water sloshing around inside of it as I carried it the short distance from the sink to the stove. Except my arms didn’t make it all the way. They detached from my shoulders with a pop and dropped, falling with the pot. I stood above the mess: my two arms on the floor, the water from the tipped pot rushing out, drenching my left arm. My right arm still gripped the pot handle.
No arms, I thought. I bent down to pick them up and reattach them s
MDIAn island of rocks and inlets harbor towns with one main street and one main dock each. Twenty-six such asphalt streets, and the unpaved roadsMDI
with names like Amscray Lane and Clamshell Alley, Ike’s Point and Clark Point and Fernald Point even Pork Chop Street—I’ve seen that sign.
Lobstermen live on those roads, roads they, Or their grandfathers, probably named themselves. They retire the boats that have pulled their last pots from the sea perch them sideways on their lawns with their names still proud in peeling paint plant geraniums or impatiens in
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