Cracks in the pavement,
potholes pebbled with cold mix:
ice-hardened tires thump and jar.
Grip the wheel tightly;
hubcaps litter the street.
This is the season of lost pieces.
Thread carefully through the debris,
the frozen plastic
and the scraps of metal.
Streets fall apart,
paint flakes from the fenders,
axles bounce and bend,
and all we can do
is watch the rear view mirror
straining for a glimpse of summer
or wait for signs of hope”Men Working”
when suddenly the streets
flower with orange barrels in the spring.
Still Life, Still Sacred
Renaissance painters would use life-sized wooden dolls called manichini to study how drapery folds on the human…
Letters
I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…
While We’re At It
Propaganda: misleading and biased portrayal of facts, often used to inculcate and reinforce an ideology or political…