LEARNING TO WEEP; a poem
By Eric Diamond Because so much depends on a walk around the lake, I take the long trail that circles the green and muddy water. Brown bees settle on tall field daisies. Lush moss blankets a fallen elm. Two deer startle in the brush and clamber up the hillside. Distant voices muffle through the forest. The air smells like bluegrass and butterflies. To each and all, I say this: You are not my son. If my son were here, he would spot...
Das Boot
By Larry Russick It was a long way for me to swim. My father was very proud of his boat. He was a very proud man—any chance he got, he would tell a story to brag about his kids or show off any advantage he had, like his boat. It wasn’t a new boat; he bought it used from a car dealer, who had it up on supports in the back of one of his showrooms in Fruitport. The boat originally cost $7,000, which was a lot of money back in 1966....
Daddy
By Kenny D’Cruz I know your hands. I know the shape of your fingers and your finger nails. I know how I feel when you open your face and laugh. I know the way you raise your right eye brow and talk from the side of your face when you are joking. How you hold your glasses when you laugh so much that you wipe your tears on the back of your hand. Your mischievous guilt when you let off a smelly windy one. How you used to hold my...
For My Progeny; a poem
by Brad Nixon I am the wellspring from whence arises the very essence of your being. I am the foundation upon which the house of your childhood is built. I am the vessel in which the soul of your youth has been leavened. I am the fire upon which the substance of your spirit has been rendered. I am the springboard from which you launch yourself into self-hood; springing ever higher and higher until you are ready to unfurl your own...
John Lennon on Fatherhood, Feminism, and Phony Tough Guy Posturing
An uncovered interview in Rolling Stone makes clear that John Lennon was strong enough to both acknowledge his own vulnerability and embrace women’s leadership.
Five Generations: Looking Back and Forward
by Steve Norcross At 69 years of age, I am blessed with three of us living and vivid memories of two others. Now that the year is turning to yet another, the holiday time has me looking back, and looking forward. Granddad was, to me, a curious example of a not-very-interesting man. Coming from humble beginnings, he learned a trade that has long since been mechanized: plate glass cutting. Mostly I remember that he was grumpy, not...
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