Entering second grade

And, just like that, my seven-year-old entered second grade today. My regular readers will recall that my wife and I were particularly nervous last year about her beginning first grade because she was one of three "new kids" in a class of thirty. The majority of the children in her class had been in preschool… Continue reading Entering second grade

Cloudless, or: Unbounded

EPIGRAPH: Itโ€™s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes.-Truman Capote (1924 โ€“ 1984), Breakfast at Tiffanyโ€™s and Three Stories unbounded in a boy's eyes unbounded by societal norms by truisms, by words, by my own eyes, by contrary evidence unbounded… Continue reading Cloudless, or: Unbounded

Potholes, or: Plot holes

A sijo thoughts rattle over potholes; memories swiss cheesed with plot holes; possible pasts fragmented, scattered among packing peanuts; thicker; with; denser; every; greyer; passing; foggier; day W3 poetry prompt This sijo was written in response to A. J. Wilson's W3 prompt ~ to write a poem in twelve lines or less, which includes the word… Continue reading Potholes, or: Plot holes

Ready, or: Here she comes

An American sentence: Growing in self-confidence, a child visits her friend unchaperoned. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor of the American Sentence, felt that the haiku didnโ€™t work as well in English. Ginsberg decided to remove the line structure of the haiku, maintaining the requirement of 17 syllables total. He felt that removing the… Continue reading Ready, or: Here she comes

Misery, or: High school

A sijo one quarter of a century has passed since my escape freedom's inevitability served to make time's passage worse my monstrous misery grew exponentially... consuming me 'Ronovan Writes' poetry challenge Sijo Wednesday #9 Ronovan encourages poets to use the word 'high school' as their inspiration, as either a theme of their sijos or in… Continue reading Misery, or: High school

Nice Jewish boy, or: The evil inclination

Indistinct chatter as I made my way through the door, past the principal's office, down the hall; School aides, most of whom I knew from my high school years , stared at me, as if I were covered in glitter or stardust; The head aide smiled all nervous-like and said, "It's nice to see you… Continue reading Nice Jewish boy, or: The evil inclination

Fiction, or: Fact

A Crystalline My daughter was three-and-a-half when Papa unexpectedly died. She had no concept of death then; by four-and-a-half, she did... a bit. "Is it right that my grandfather died?" She asked once, on the way to shul. I had been reciting kaddish for Papa every day for a year. All those months, I'd tried… Continue reading Fiction, or: Fact

Like father, or: Son

A Cleave poem I fell in love with the city of my birth, but my deep commitment to family could not provide support enough to get me through that period of those difficult days that most required it because I was alone. so, I sucked it up, as was my fatherโ€™s way, which he would… Continue reading Like father, or: Son