A spring morning much like others, some daffodils rain-beaten, some perked. Daphne’s lemony fragrance when near enough. The outdoor little library bookcase at the neighbor’s frames the same mythologies, travel guides, and who-dun-its that got us through winter’s downpours. At the abandoned school, morning changes. A man rakes the baseball diamond, listening on earphones that […]Read more "Kindling"
Writing is doubt, and so I read in order to write. I look for clues in any given text, and if they are not readily present, a certain defensive boredom sets in. Then I realize that this is the place to pay attention and ask questions. How does it speak to and about women? Is […]Read more "EVERY BOOK IS DEAD"
It’s all about confidence, they said. You have to have as much chutzpah as all those dudes who self-publish poem after poem about road kill and baseball, girls, their fathers, chess, sailing, yeats’ gyre and bukowski’s pocked face. I was bold to write aloud before three teachers said they liked my poems. I got excited […]Read more "My Life As a Published Man"
This post was originally created and submitted for a project at the Grin City Collective’s Artist Residency Program, in which we were asked to cover some aspect of the Grinnell High School Homecoming festivities. For more information on the Grin City Artist Residency program check out: http://grincitycollective.org/ A month after my grandfather moved back to Pella […]Read more "The Homecoming Parade"