In the forest dark.

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita. Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. * Lost isn’t the half of it ....more

Farewell Robin, and thanks.

Thanks Listenwith the night falling we are saying thank youwe are stopping on the bridges to bow for the railingswe are running out of the glass roomswith our mouths full of food to look at the skyand say thank youwe are standing by the water looking outin different directions. back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging after funerals we are saying thank you after the news of the dead whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you looking up from tables we are saying thank you in a culture up to its chin in shame living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you over telephones we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators remembering wars and the police at the back door and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you in the banks that use us we are saying thank you with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you with the animals dying around us our lost feelings we are saying thank you with the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank you with the words going out like cells of a brain with the cities growing over us like the earth we are saying thank you faster and faster with nobody listening we are saying thank you we are saying thank you and waving dark though it is –W.S. Merwin ...more

Take the gun; leave the tefillin.


[Maltodextrin] Mud Fight

So, it happened. I engaged in something I swore I would never do: I got into a knock-down brawl...more

Let’s get small.

I wanted to go to Paris to look, and to see with intent; I wanted to travel small and not be...more

A Woman, A Man, A Pizza

In 2004, Susan and I had just left Harwinton — a small town of 3,500 in rural northern Connecticut — after living there for three years. We first met in the chilly autumn months of 1999, began seeing each other in January of 2000, and moved in together almost a year later, after twelve months of long weekends and weepy...more

Gluten Free{dom}

A few months ago, I published a piece in the...more

The things we cling to

“The days aren’t discarded or collected, they are bees that burned with sweetness or maddened the sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn’t unweave: there is no net.” – Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day Some time ago, a friend from college told me about a brisket that her mother used to make every year for Passover; my friend visibly swooned as she talked about it — the buildup, the frantic shopping for the deckle, the preparation for cooking that involved her mother taking an old, bent Ginsu filet knife and making small, deep slits in the meat into which she would insert narrow slivers of garlic. One year, she added raisins and dill to the garlic ....more

Feeding Late Winter Nerves

I’m sitting in my office right now and staring out the window at a stupid amount of snow. And it’s snowing as I write this....more

All Fall Down

My mother and I have a longstanding joke — not really a joke so much as an observation — that my beloved grandmother, Clara, who died in April of 1982 when I was at college, was among the world’s great fallers. Of all the stories of my grandmother falling, my mother particularly likes to tell about the time in the late Fifties when she came home from a weekend on Cape Cod and found her mother sitting in the living room with her arm in a sling. “What happened, Ma?” my mother said ....more