Humanity retreats indoors and the non-human

natural world rumbles out liberated.

You are acting like a child

the officers tell her. To which

she responds I am a child

There’s the airport, to start.

I must confess I don’t miss it,

though its mean to an end

Lately, I have been wanting time to speed time up. I want the virus to finish its deadly spread so we can start coming back out into the world.

In the parliament of the common man

men hunker around the lean fire

of a newspaper and talk of tyrants

and the politics of power.

I have a friend who sits out in his woodshed in Maine and smokes and listens to Red Sox games.

You had just turned twelve; more than four years since the accident….

Lately, I have been attempting to remember what it was like being seventeen.

One of the small ironies of our long recovery from the car wreck—now nine years in the past—one that has gradually bloomed into awareness, is how we were told how lucky we were not to have sustained head injuries…

In a recent creative nonfiction class, I had a writer write a long, erudite essay about trail walking.