Strangers on a Tram
ALBUQUERQUE, N.M.— The say the next tram boards in 10 minutes. Ten minutes later, they tell us the next tram boards in 10 to 15 minutes.
Spirals Versus Curves
RICHMOND, Va. — Testy docents say backpacks belong in front or beside my body / A NEW INTERPRETATION OF “HAMLET” IS SHAKING UP THE THEATER SCENE / I wish you were here to tousle my hair
A Hero, A Mascot, A Work of Art?
RALEIGH, N.C. — Imagine a giant inflatable holiday decoration, the kind that people set on their lawns – Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny – and how they’re pumped with air and how that makes them swell until they almost burst.
The Scene That Isn’t There Is Amazing
RALEIGH, N.C. — Beam-I is a narrow red walkway that reaches a terminus. There is room for one person at a time to walk single file to the end. Imagine “walking the plank,” but with barriers on either side.
An Open Letter to Josh Thrower
RALEIGH, N.C. — First, I turned a corner and saw “Large Spindle Piece” and “No Fuss.” I learned from a sign that THIS SITE WAS DEGRADED AND DEPLETED BY ITS USE AS A PRISON FARM.
At a Rest Stop With The Poet
REST STOP, Va./N.C. — Outside the car, several squirrels run and play. One squirrel sits atop the blue-lidded recycling bin, surveying her domain. A few of the squirrels hop over to the doors. They stop and wait. “They’re hungry,” says the Poet. “They demand we feed them.”
She Adds a Little Cinnamon
SHORT PUMP, Va. — It has been threatening to rain all day. I write threatening, as if the sky is a big man with puffed-up chest and wild eyes staring down and shouting, “I’ll fucking do it. I’ll fucking rain on you.” The occasional drizzle is spit flying from Big-Man-Sky’s mouth.
Oh, Clown! You Give Me Hope!
SARASOTA, Fla. — If not for the clown, I would call this propaganda. I would call it blatant ideology shaped by a homogenous community’s idea of family. The commissioners of this piece had in mind an ideal.
The Pungent Odor of Horseradish
LANCASTER, Pa. — A poem inspired by Central Market, the oldest continuously operating farmer’s market in the United States.
Ratified to Go Beyond or Slip Away
BOSTON, Mass. — Beside the trunk of the Golden Weeping Willow, the dog gnaws the king’s bones. / He wears away slowly and thoroughly the brittle bones. / He cracks a rib. / He splits the rib into shards and chews deliberately to soften the sharp edges. / He savors the flavor. / He wags his tail.
Waiting for the Train (ASH to WAS)
ASHLAND, Va. — I’m early as usual. So early. Too early. It would be waste of time if it weren’t an opportunity to write. Writing stops time. At the very least, it preserves time. Time is a cucumber. Time is a watermelon. Time is a fruit or vegetable. Time is a fruit and vegetable. Writing is vinegar and heat. Writing pickles time.
The Child and His Penny
RICHMOND, Va. — I tried moving the kugel ball myself, but it wouldn’t budge, so now I sit on one of the stone benches that ring the plaza. I’m dewy and aromatic with sweat. The world is falling apart. I spent the day roaming Richmond. I’m dehydrated. Do you know what it feels like to be dehydrated on a hot day?
An Invisible Shivering Takes Place During Transformation
RICHMOND, Va. — A kettle filled with water boils in the background. If all the morning-glories in the world bloomed at the same time, they could not erupt with such contained violence.
When the Clock Strikes the Hour
ASHLAND, Va. — I’m not composed at all in this tranquil space. A squirrel leaps from inside the trash can and startles me. A spider crawls on my neck and creeps me out. Mosquitos keep trying to get one over on me. There are two bumps on my arm and one on my face from where they’ve finished feasting.
An Odd Exhibit at Odds With—
NAPOLEON, N.D. — To combine threshing / machines on a prairie, / nowhere you are ever / likely to visit, / is someone’s display / of resolve.
Who Is Le Doux?
GLEN ALLEN, Va. — A guy double-fisting 20-ounce coffees also holds a bag of breakfast sandwiches pinched between the ring and pinky fingers of one hand. It is a precarious situation, and something is wrong with the order.
The Rueben Late at Night
SOUTH BEND, Ind. — A Reuben sandwich is grist for the mill. Every enchanting bite pares the marble of the memory. The sauerkraut juice, enchantress. It might be one of the best Reubens I have eaten. Might be. How do I evaluate meals apart from the circumstances in which I find myself. In this case, I am famished and tired and relieved to be sitting on the springy cushions of this booth instead of the rigid seat of a car.
A Giant in the Flesh
ALTON, Ill. — Standing adjacent to the statue of Robert Pershing Wadlow is not the same as knowing him. Nor does listening to Sufjan Stevens sing about the tallest man illuminate much of anything.
On a Bench at the Low Line
RICHMOND, Va. — I think of you in the afternoon, as I wander from our apartment to the Low Line. I sit on the bench closest to the start of the Capital Trail, the bench sponsored by THE KELLEY FAMILY OF VIRGINIA
Objects, Feelings, Thoughts: Lessons from Chinese Poetics
Personal takeaways from my reading of “Pearl from the Dragon’s Mouth,” a book that explores the role of ‘feeling’ and ‘scene’ in Chinese poetics.