Henry Lightfoot: The Story of a Man (from Shorts)
On a third generation sofa, plaid, a rusty orange with olive and navy inter-weavings, purchased at a thrift store twenty years back by a woman, recently deceased and still lying upstairs waiting to be found, sat a man called Henry Lightfoot, aged forty-two years, who had never been outside. He was balding. His once handsome [...]
I (from Love Poems)
I started growing apple trees.
They sprouted yesterday,
twelve of them,
only plumules now,
but you wait.
I’m taking them to Chicago
with me, and plan
to watch them grow up to be
big and strong and one day
plant them in the ground.
Because what is life
sans love
or the simple want
to watch things
become beautiful?
