In 1982, my mom let me skip a day of school. She would never do that again. It was the next to last day of kindergarten, and instead of going to school, my mom and I loaded a bus for Knoxville, TN, and took a little day trip to the 1982 World’s Fair. It’s one […]Read More 1982. 1998. 2018. My Mom and the World’s Fair
I am five years old, standing on the sidewalk at a Fourth of July parade with my mother, my aunt, and my sisters. Before the parade begins, a vendor comes by with a cart full of balloons and other kitschy souvenirs. We are each allowed one. There are the twisty-tie kind, contorted into animals. There […]Read More Contested History: A Parable
It looks to be a Christmas warm enough for hiking. We will kick up the leaves, decide which fellow travelers we greet With a ‘Happy Holidays’ and which we greet with a ‘Merry Christmas” And because this year is different from all other years, we will peak inside each and every house to see which […]Read More What do we do?
Will this fog ever clear? The road has turned inside itself twice now. Once without warning; once without much of one. And then there was the rain. Haunting us every third mile, harassing us every second one. We stay quiet enough to hear the whir of the engine and the kickup of stray rock on […]Read More Driving up Signal Mountain in the Fog
I know the way to Nashville by heart. I don’t know it like a native, sure only know it as someone who remembers it in a certain freeze-frame. So when I drive in and see the cranes (the kind that build skyscraping condos, not the kind that land on them) dance across the horizon, as […]Read More Country Song #137
The quiet here surprises me. Less than a mile away, Rush hour is gearing up But here, on the ground floor beneath tons of concrete I almost hear The kind of quiet that greets the first morning of camping The patient quiet of glass supporting the heavier-by-the-second lean of a young child held between gasp […]Read More Parking Garage
My dog digs trying to set down roots she digs up glass instead This was an empty lot for years. In the short-off distance, a neighbor sings that she is a “poor wayfaring stranger.” She’s digging in, too. Her roof is a week old. brand new. She ain’t going nowhere. Not anytime soon.Read More Gentrification