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Parenting
Poetry
Indra’s Net
We mothers meet on the playground, sun-hungry, / kicking at scabs of ice, / shuffling and bumping tired sentences against each other, / all too broken by winter / to say how things really are.
November 2009Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
The Curtain
The color of the hospital curtain dividing the room changes with the light. If our neighbor by the window keeps the blinds open, the cloth that divides the room is a sea green riddled with purple. If the neighbor likes it dim, the curtain becomes the mottled color of a bruise just before it heals. When we have no neighbor, we push the curtain back so we can see the view of the black-papered roof.
November 2009
Poetry
Sunday Morning Early
My daughter and I paddle identical red kayaks / across the lake. Pulling hard, we slip easily / through the water.
September 2009
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Since You Asked
Cary Tennis has been called the “Walt Whitman of advice columnists” by one of his regular readers. His daily column “Since You Asked” has been a hallmark of Salon.com since 2001. Tennis offers frank and sometimes pointed advice, and he reveals his own struggles with refreshing candor. He is part spiritual advisor, part fellow flawed human, part friend who’ll give it to you straight. He can also craft a mean sentence.
January 2009Poetry
After The Reading, Driving Back To Massachusetts With Jim Beschta, I Think Of The Men Who Hold The World In Their Hands
November 2008Sy Safransky’s Notebook
October 2008
My daughter Mara is getting married next week — my daughter who is in her thirties now, not her twenties; not a teen; not a young child crossing the street for the first time; not an infant I rock in my arms at 3 A.M., too tired to think straight, the sleepless nights stacked up like planes in a holding pattern, the pilots growing drowsier and drowsier. Wake up! She’s getting married!
October 2008Fiction
The Jump
My six-year-old came out of his room the other morning wearing eyeglasses with no lenses. The frames were the same pillow shape as his mother’s, though hers were apricot colored, and these were a red tortoiseshell like a movie star might wear. He must have gotten them from Mrs. Dugan, who watches him during the summer while I’m at work.
October 2008
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Dad For A Day
A big part of being a man, it seems, is being a dad. As I’ve gotten older and watched many of my peers get married and start families, I’ve begun wondering whether I shouldn’t have a kid, too. But getting one, it turns out, is not so simple. With no partner at the moment, and with kidnapping still illegal in New York State, I’ve chosen to rent.
October 2008
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