MyBlog

I consider life as a fill-in-the-blanks sonnet. A cloud moves across the sun: such drama:…

When Honeyfield Oates, America’s favorite poet, was born, it was 106 in the shade. The…

“This End Up” said the lettering On the package. What was inside? A gorilla?…

Fountaining lobelia: we hang a pair on the porch to welcome summer and ward off…

Someday you’ll forget, he thanked God. Newspaper where the words for the opportunity, a choice,…

6:35 a.m. Not suffering. The quietest time Of morning. I can hear a train rumbling…

Even after a full day of housekeeping at Johnny and Kaye's near the airport, stripping…

The books are all mine now. It's too bad about the electricity, because it gets…

Your mind goes on around you, practicing piano in the apartment below or standing in…

I must do this to survive, Cardinal. No breathing allowed, Mr. Bee. I tripped…

My Father Didn’t Dance With Sylvia Plath BY RUSTIN LARSON New Year’s Eve, curled in…

In first grade my hands would sweat pools of liquid onto the fake blond woodgrain…

Schloop: a novel. Chapter 1: What went down in first grade I. John John Robert…

I spell out the word crocodile. I see the movie about the dolphin. Time for…

American robins, no picnic; a woman knocks, a door-to-door missionary, and asks and I…