It was an idea that spawned, mainly, from a backstage conversation with one of the main characters in a production of Much Ado About Nothing that I recently finished at a local community theater. We were discussing our favorite moments, as actors, when this particular actor casually mentioned that her favorite moments were the nonverbal ones,Continue reading “Writing Shakespeare (well, sort of)”
Category Archives: Writing
boston
Oh Boston,what harsh and terriblesighs of grief do you exhale?
threads
This is the speech I wrote for my brother’s wedding. It took me a surprisingly long time to write. I’m posting it here because it represents, to me, the triumphant accomplishment of being able to find words for a concept that I’ve been grappling with for most of my adult life. And, of course, havingContinue reading “threads”
White Porches
Less than a week after my little brother’s marriage, I found myself on a plane. A myriad of planes, actually. Since several members of our newest in-law’s family had attended my brother’s Oregon wedding, we took the opportunity to reciprocate, pinballing through airports from Portland, San Francisco, Charlotte, Charleston, and DC, on our way toContinue reading “White Porches”
plaster
he was like plaster dull in his reverie and dry in his humor we talked out of winter and into spring cruelly with mournful vows he left me there and I, in time sputtered melted and blazened on
Playthings
Not so long ago I lay flat on my back in the grass behind the theater, looking up at the dimming sky, listening to the familiar sounds of rehearsal. Two girls giggled in one dressing room, while the comforting, masculine murmur from the other dressing room drifted past. Two small girls (who play fairies inContinue reading “Playthings”
the poet
those eyes with worn-through pinholes watch words drip like an engine while hands tap slow and sweetly reciting oh reciting those joyous frantic poems still cheeks blush yellow from drowning with shiv’ring shoulders rounding as languid hymns are whispered recalling oh recalling those faithful ebbing poems his listful language dreaming in drunken rapture, sleeping hisContinue reading “the poet”
Lone
if the west is indeed wildand tumbleweed skate the rugged plainsand the deep wind carves dustin hollowsthen i stand, lonein a long-brim hatfacing the grit frontierwith a 4.121 revolverholsteredwhistlingat my side
y duerman en el gris
Quiero estar contigocuando el sol se mueray las estrellas se desvanezcany duerman en el gris I want to be with youwhen the sun diesand the stars fadeand sleep in the gray
Hope Helps 