To a Friend Whose Operation Has Been Postponed

Open the rusty screen door
Follow my voice through the center
of the forest with no trees

Float atop the escaping river
like a weekday problem on a Saturday afternoon
Watch the cardinals glide above

this mess of a city, careless, self-absorbed,
The drivers in their compact cars, too,
accelerating behind you to dates and games

the scattered possibilities of something better
Take solace in the abandoned
take-out bags and six-pack rings

like embedded buttons to press
along the speckled shore of Lake Michigan
Lives are being lived here—mine, yours too—

Fill your lungs with ivy
Feel each of your toes slicken with grease
and pulverized stone, the natural aftermath

of ten million people using up this world
a paragraph at a time, a paragraph
at a time when each of us yearns to write

A burnished tome

A Second Cousin of a Second Cousin

A couple years ago after researching as thoroughly as possible, I had decided my family was not related to the infamous outlaw, Jesse James. But, after finding this newspaper article recently, I’ve brought out all of my research again.

To be clear, the man interviewed happens to also be named Jesse James. He is not the outlaw, but he is definitely my grandfather’s cousin.

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Click here for source.

The Invitation

My dearest,

I’m writing to ask you to my wedding on the 15th. Her name is Roslyn. You don’t know her. 

I don’t wish for you to receive this news as a rebuff. It is possible to be two things at once. Like you. What was that name you insist your mother gave you in that bleak time before we met? “Herve”? And yet will the Lord God judge me as a liar for calling you Harvey all these years? 

Two things at once.
Your Jonah