Poetry
Winter 1998
An Old Airman Who Knows Who He Was
In the light of twelve-o’clock-high I’m on most days safe. Now, playing centerfielder in the black third hour beyond midnight, assaulted by Day-Glo balls arc’d at me by batters all […]
Poetry
Winter 1963
Fairy Tale
Half awake, the boy in the big bed haunted by guns sits up to fire his blank tears. The world he dreamed was a palace, painted blue to match the […]
Poetry
Spring 1961
Sable Island
60° W—43° 56′ N You wouldn’t want to go there. Sand is all there is: a graveyard strip of ships’ bones in the North Atlantic; backbones, deadeyes, ribs, cast up […]