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Intuition

“I love you,” I shout. I can’t believe I spoke so directly. Usually I prefer to communicate on a more sub-conscious level. “I love you, Christa.” But Christa is already typing, and has written over my words.

Pennies From Grandma

I’ve been passing pennies on the sidewalk. There seem to be a lot, as if I’m not the only one who doesn’t bother anymore to lean down and pick them up. After all, what good’s a penny anymore? It’s enough to buy a memory. Every time I see one I think of my Grandma Bralley.

Tully

Now in the long evenings after dinner she often found herself standing before the bathroom mirror, trying hard to glimpse some of the prettiness her husband had always championed.

Generations

Descent Into Brotherland

Now I’ve visited okie in the brig before, I’ve visited okie in the psychiatric wards, and I’ve visited okie in the oklahoma jail, and I’ve talked to the lawyers and jail wardens and policemen and psychiatric boards and judges. So I’m only a little bit nervous about talking to this va psychiatrist about okie’s va check which hasn’t been coming for the right amount of disability since he got out of jail.

The Cripple Liberation Front Marching Band Blues

(Part I)

They draw me into an arch so that they can run an eighteen-inch horse-needle in between the plates of my spine for an hour or so to get a copious sample of the cerebrospinal fluid. So the doctors can tell my family. What they know already. That I am very sick. That I might die.

My Father’s Garage On Christmas Night

Brothers And Sisters

Forgiveness, gratefulness, an uncomfortable dinner

To My Sister, Roberta

Some Joke, Huh?

My brother is weird. I never know what he’s going to do next. Like the time he decides around three o’clock on an August afternoon that he’s going to climb the Franklin Mountains.