back on the wharf:
the air is cool today
a not quite autumnal kiss
a tease right out of one more
badly written southern
antebellum book
Category Archives: waterfront
heat of the night: July 2023
before she curled up to sleep on the bench, the woman lit a match and burned a small piece of paper she had rolled up. it was a prayer. she wore an old sweatshirt with a ruffled dickey on it, the sort of thing a grandnephew might give for Christmas. people come to the river all the time and burn little prayers. sometimes, in the absence of fire, they leave them on a bench or the wall in case God walks by. the entire wharf is an altar and we are all offered up.
when at the start of summer
my wife makes deviled eggs and the mayflies have hatched on the wharf / the rain is warm like the spit of a thousand cynical angels / the wharf raccoon gets (re)caught / being between Derby and the State Fair, a couple of street folks sleep on the amphitheater steps near River Road / the only respite from rain is its unsatisfactory absence