VINCENT IN THREE PARTS BY TARA DASSO
Vincent in high school shone with the luminescence
that touches those to whom success seems inevitable.
A talented musician and gifted artist; I was fascinated by him.
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Vincent in high school shone with the luminescence
that touches those to whom success seems inevitable.
A talented musician and gifted artist; I was fascinated by him.
It isn’t difficult. Things explain themselves. Settling into the chair, when I hear “main” After a moment I work arms into this colorful sheet’s sleeves. In French I tell him I know little French....
Read MoreJay takes off down the creek, getting his new sneakers all wet. The other three look at him running away; then they bolt, except for Betsy. She climbs a weeping willow tree. When she gets half way to the top, she sees Eileen’s mother stomping down the hill.
Read MoreHow gently the tourist Unsure of himself Gestures to the vegetable seller “Am I next?” How gently the woman beside him Requesting three turnips Ignores his question. The seller’s adolescent son Anxious to...
Read MoreHe is intelligent and practical
Distant when he should move closer
Clumsy in his attempts to connect
But diligent in his efforts to show his love
I get the call at 1:17 a.m., “Jerry?” “Ben,” I say. Just stating fact. As I stand, I hear snow brushing our house. My wife, Dominique, rustles the bed, sits up, flips on the light. Her big blue peepers flash a question, “Ben...
Read MoreThe caribou calls out
The shadows of the night,
Calls out with vowels woven together
To summon the future unknown
sliding with the traffic of trailers and trucks through the gland lands of misty Appalachia rolling through lush wet curvature the danger is getting caught in the dance deer clustered on the shoulder ready to leap into the eyes...
Read MoreIn Sunday school we learned how David fit
a river-smoothed rock into his sling.
Hurled it at Goliath. Struck the giant’s head
so hard the stone burrowed into his brow
and he fell dead to the ground.
Just as you turned the corner on Langford road and accelerated up Indian riverbank, down went that damned red-and-white caution arm to block you—as if the bridge were waiting to show you it’s authority. And behind the arm,...
Read MoreWithout words I detach,
drift off like an iceberg
in ocean waters
We walked through the barnyard rowdy with geese and chickens. Uncle John, my grandmother’s oldest brother, opened the wooden gate into a pasture sloping gently into the past, the grazing horses he employed around the farm raised...
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