5 years old or 6 maybe

It was before we carpeted the living room
the record player, or maybe the radio,
you were dancing
socks sliding on the hardwood floor
freshly mopped and dried
I do not remember the song
you were very young
so was I
It was the only time 
I ever saw you dance

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The unfinished and unsent letter of apology found in your desk shortly after we buried you.

It was, you were right, a sparrow's song. Of course I knew you'd been gone for years where did you go? I had, as you know, gone nowhere or rather went with me wherever I went but you you left us both. I will likely never forgive you or myself. I'm sorry. Please come home.

The woman sitting next to me is studying a Paris Metro map

I am sitting outside the dance studio that my daughter and 35 other 3,4, and 5 year ballerinas (there are no Dansuer Noble -- no boys. My daughter often asserts that 'boys don't dance' and we have to correct her, but only in words as there are none in her class to point to). The woman sitting next to me is trying to corrale two young boys and is likely waiting on a duaghter as well. She is alternately snapping at them and leafing through a 'Dummies' guide to french. She has some hasty notes on a map of the Paris Metro poking out of her bag. I makes me remember my time in paris. I would love to go back, it is one of few cities I would live in (if I could afford to do so). My french was pathetic, but it was enough to get out of the occasional jam. Except for the Takeaway Carton Incident. We had just finished an early supper at a wonderful little crepe place near our hotel in the Opera District. Our timezones were all messed up as we were in the last segment o...

Lecherous Old Man

walking along the concourse Admiring the late spring sunshine dappled along shapely forms young women in sun dresses Then, it occurs to me that the few smiling back do so only because they see their grandfather whistling along with only momentary guilt

In some ways, wandering in the desert

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