On First Looking into Sexton’s Cummiskey Alley by Dana Stabenow He writes of the bend toward Asia from aYankee mill town on the bend of a riverWhere dropped r’s leave one dead to rights andHearts are stolen without leaving bruises. Here on the bend, not a mill town but a Fish town girl, my mother caught the…
Read more We persist in living and in writing well.
Poolshark He was an ancient gambler long vanished from the window table where the game became a way of life. Dim-eyed and reptilian, Willie Provencher sat on his favorite bench near the door and scanned the murk for fish. we came ducktailed and dumb from school to lose at nineball to that dank and wrinkled…
Read more He took our quarters one by one.