Something Nice to Say

My wife uses her pregnant belly — her baby bump — as a table. On it: her iPad. She waves her hand. “Hey,” she says. “Fetus doesn’t like this.”

A Small Story about Change and Expectation

My wife walks into our living room carrying a bowl of strawberries. Her face and arms are tanned. Her sandy, sun-lightened hair glows. Her five-months-pregnant belly precedes her into the room. The skin is rounded but still smooth and firm, taut from her morning exercise routine; unlike her face and arms, it wears the pinkish…

Quitter – Part 3

When we’re faced with an ending, I think most of us instinctively recoil. At least initially, there’s some sort of pause before the plunge. We inhale deeply. Then we dive.

The Experience of Art

Once, a number of years ago, a young woman I knew vaguely through a mutual friend told me that, for her, art always soured after explanation.

After Listening to My Father Read Aloud One of My Stories

He read the way I’d heard him read aloud from the Letters of Paul, books of the Old Testament. He’d been a lector at church for years; had also spoken in courtrooms, before judges and opposing council, on behalf of clients (I was one, once upon a time); over the public address at Ryan Field, Wapakoneta’s high…

Attempts (poem)

I must’ve been difficult to handle alone. My kind of trouble makes bones of bodies, sand of bones.


My wife and I walked our dog a little while ago. She has since gotten back to coloring, a practice she’s taken up with some consistency and considerable joy since her mother and I both gave her coloring books for her birthday.

The Now

I was standing on a high school soccer field the other night. A storm front had just rolled past; the air had cooled in its wake. But we never saw a drop of rain. The lights over the field began to glow just as the sky opened to a sunset of oranges, pale blues, and…