Tag Archives: redemption

Increments

The devil deals in increments, small and sinuous seductions gradually transacted in the space you made without realizing one soul may be sold in many lots, and every clasp of that sleight of hand makes the next easier, your frog skin luxuriating: How lovely, at first, the warming water. Having missed the inobvious horns — […]

God wiggles his butt

  God wiggles his butt when he sees you, his tail lashing the heavens with happiness. Not one glad glance is wasted on your sin, your bad behavior, your poor choices. Even God gets into the trash, sometimes. How, otherwise, would she understand? And do you recall how you laughed at her guilty smile, how, […]

We gather again, broken

Near the end, if we are lucky — then or in the in-between, at an emotional way station we hoped would arrive, not knowing when — we gather again, broken. The lover and the leaver, the feckless parent, the helpless child, the endless variations of victim and perpetrator between which, here, distinctions fade in scalding light: […]

Monstrous

Today is Frankenstein Day, which, with International Talk Like a Pirate Day and National Butterscotch Pudding Day (both September 19: “Arrrr, Matey, pass the puddin’!”) ranks among my favorite made-up holidays. Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus was born Aug. 30, 1797. At the tender age of 19, amidst a succession of […]

Drop of rain in smoke tree leaf

Yard

I love each plant too much, but not blindly. I’m aware of their redemptive force, how they came to be here partly from my need for correction of some mysterious but fatal error I made in ancient time, before memory — not just the discrete failure to care for those two grand old trees, but some bigger and unforgivable mistake. For years, I have dreamed sporadically that I have murdered some unknown person and been found out, that I have irreparably taken another’s life and ruined my own.

We gather again, broken

Near the end, if we are lucky — then or in the in-between, at an emotional way station we hoped would arrive, not knowing when — we gather again, broken. The lover and the leaver, the feckless parent, the helpless child, the endless variations of victim and perpetrator between which, here, distinctions fade in scalding light: […]

Monstrous

Today is Frankenstein Day, which, with International Talk Like a Pirate Day and National Butterscotch Pudding Day (both September 19: “Arrrr, Matey, pass the puddin’!”) ranks among my favorite made-up holidays. Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus was born Aug. 30, 1797. At the tender age of 19, amidst a succession of […]