The Pungent Odor of Horseradish
LANCASTER, Pa. — A poem inspired by Central Market, the oldest continuously operating farmer’s market in the United States.
Courting the Imagination
MOUNT JOY, Pa. — This respite is an opportunity to hideaway for an hour. To be in each other’s company is our favorite pastime. With so few opportunities lately to enjoy it alone, this is a gift.
The Word for “Made-Up” Time
COLUMBIA, Pa. — I never gave much thought to the word “passage.”
The Cow Without a Smile
COLUMBIA, Pa. — Here is a manufactured innocence that I see quite clearly, but have failed to relinquish completely. Growing up, we would say that our veins and arteries carried iced tea. We joked the convenience stores were blood banks. We transfused ourselves after a three-mile run. We transplanted our broken adolescent hearts with ice cream scoops.
An Early Morning Hike
COLUMBIA, Pa. — Every sentence is always inadequate, so a fear of failure has never paralyzed me. That’s not what makes writing difficult. It’s the possibility of success that strikes me as terrifying. What if I succeed? What if, during one of these early-morning moments, the seamless expression of an adjacent world materializes? How do I live with myself?
A Tour of James Buchanan’s Wheatland
LANCASTER, Pa. — Cross the threshold. Say where you’re from. Follow your guide, dressed in period costume, to the left. This was James Buchanan’s dining room. Here’s a list of foods that people in his time would have eaten for dinner: turkey, cranberry sauce, green beans.
Tranquility, War, Winter, Guilt, Tranquility
LANCASTER, Pa. — It seems unfair, if not unjust, to find tranquility among deserted buildings and desolate paths.
A Poem for Sam’s Man Cave, Lancaster, Pennsylvania
LANCASTER, Pa. — A poem for the owner of this Lancaster County institution.