Like This
When my daughter says Daddy a certain way,
as if tiptoeing my name into the ocean
to find out how warm I am,
I know what’s coming.
A game of What if My Name Was?
or Can You Do This?
No, Not Like That, I said
Like This.
Whatever she does next,
her headstand from a crooked tripod,
that folded guru yoga pose
no one should be able to do,
I twist, gyrate, and contort
with her,
burning to shape This into
memory.
This is a wonderful piece, about the power of fully living, written by Roger Ebert, film critic, on May 2, 2009.
Myself As Their Father Red dye in our bird bath, day one. Pine cones planted points up around our patio, day two. My daughter's tears, my teenage son's commitment to revenge, unacceptable,
but shared.
We'll get them back, I say,
feeling first shame,
then pride
in myself as their father.
Friday evening: Wrote poetry
Very early Saturday morning: Wrote fiction
Saturday morning: Wrote nonfiction
Saturday afternoon: Visited two art galleries
Sunday: Painted and sketched
Face
The Final Breath of the World’s Greatest Free Diver, Natalia Molchanova
I remember once telling a writer all sorts of things about a story of mine he had just finished reading. His reply? “So what?” With that in mind…
Face: Ink and acrylic on board. About the size of an index card, mounted as the top of a box.
The Final Breath of the World’s Greatest Free Diver, Natalia Molchanova. Yes, she really was, and yes, unfortunately, she really did. Acrylic on canvas. Footnote: I tried to take this painting to the next level after photographing it. Ironically, perhaps, the painting did not survive.
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