The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus clasps ... [+]
Poetry
Contemporary
Melancholy
1 min
Mature Audience
the book "Late for the Gratitude Meeting" (Kelsay Books, 2019)
As It Happens
When they told me I was dying, which I wasn't, I began to miss the things in the world which I didn't even like about the world—the hideous traffic on 95, for instance, which I found myself sitting in, going nowhere on my way home, in no hurry now that I was dying. I will miss this traffic, I thought, feeling surrounded—girded—by people and life and desire in the lanes. And the truck, the 18-wheeler shouldering in, trying to pass on the right (I always hated trucks), struck me now as a vessel of human kindness, people helping people they don't even know by bringing them food from far away. I w