Like most people, I tend to be parsimonious with my mercy. Mostly because time is like blood to me. I only have so much. When you are a letter carrier, people try to befriend you. Often they have nowhere to go. They are prisoners of their maladies and handicaps. They pester you as if you … Continue reading Mercy
Memoir
Cawing into the Abyss
Crows assemble at this U of M tower like children around a birthday cake, hoping for the killing to begin so they can have lunch. You are fools they say, everyone is black until you pick our feathers. Each December they fill the sky along the river in flocks too numerous to count. Such gatherings … Continue reading Cawing into the Abyss
The Last Third
With November upon us and the skyline a lattice of sticks, I think of The First Third--the posthumously published memoir by Neal Cassady. Cassady was Jack Kerouac’s muse, the Dean Moriarty of his famous novel, On the Road. I read both those books when I was about twenty. Kerouac admired Cassady for his frenetic energy … Continue reading The Last Third
Man on the Moon: an End of Days Soundtrack
“That planet called “normal” is small and blue in the distance, close enough to see but too far away to touch.” Read more from “Man on the Moon” at https://atticusreview.org/man-on-the-moon-an-end-of-days-soundtrack/ https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dLxpNiF0YKs
Down by the River
When I got home from work, the boy told me he wanted to go fishing. I paused before answering out of weariness. What I really needed was a cold beer and a hot shower. “Let your dad rest and get settled,” my wife said in support. “I’ll never say no to that,” I said. “We … Continue reading Down by the River
Macabre Mailboxes and a Minneapolis Murder Mystery
As a letter carrier, I get paid to walk in circles. It is not such a horrible thing to stroll through the same neighborhood every day, although the job does get dull and the weather is sometimes horrible. Like any walker, I note the banal passage of the seasons. I had forgotten this collection of … Continue reading Macabre Mailboxes and a Minneapolis Murder Mystery
Crows
My brother gave me an album of photographs and important papers that my father left behind. I keep it out of sight in the basement. But sometimes, late at night, when the rest of my family is asleep, I drink too much wine and think about the past. Barrel-chested and powerful, my father sits on … Continue reading Crows
Roswell City Limits
My father died on February 25th, 2012. He was 67 years old. He had made an appointment to see a doctor that day, but the pain got to be too much and he ended up dialing 911. He had a perforated stomach that led to septicemia which is a bacterial infection of the blood. He … Continue reading Roswell City Limits
Black Brains
The first person I ever knew with cancer was my grandmother. It killed her when I was about fifteen. Growing up, we drove to Watertown, South Dakota and visited my father's parents once or twice a year for the holidays. My grandfather had been a gunner in the Army Air Corp in World War II. … Continue reading Black Brains
Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
I remember the day my father dropped me off at college. I was eighteen years old. I gazed into the mirror after he had gone and said aloud to my reflection, “You’re never going to make it here.” The room was spartan--concrete walls, a bunk, a dresser and a desk on each side with … Continue reading Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
