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  • Three Summers

    The spring I turned ten my father told me we’d be spending a month in Maine with old friends. “They have a daughter who’s a little older than you, Josh. And it’s time I taught you to fish,” he said. “You remember the Izelins, don’t you?” I didn’t, not exactly. They’d stayed with us for…

  • Bird Swerves

    Blackbird called Redwinged                                              and I both startle when I stand and turn. Bird expertly                        swerves, flies on; but I spend a few…

  • June Bugs

    The buzz of electricity circles a yellow bulb in Maine’s humid heat. June bugs bomb the porch light with spiny legs—date-colored and oversize.                               Spring peepers pin the night, pitch a universe in my mother’s kitchen, except I have not yet…

  • Provincetown

    This undistinguished        shingled        condominium is closer to Route Six than to the sea so that muffled sound we hear is cars, not waves. The occupants of the adjacent unit are often in the driveway keyboarding in cars. No one is keyboarding, of course, at dawn when I leave for the beach so I can beat…

  • Sweet Disposition

    Thoughts have gone wolf again, hunting for reasons in the dark. Suppose we were never               supposed to fall into each other’s arms? Made a bone-boat tossed all our memories in—               watched it sail. There’s a chance I know nothing and I…

  • The Invisible Book

    Sometimes when I’m reading, I’m distracted by the invisible book underneath the book I’m actually reading and the problem is this: it’s better. It’s like the superball under the couch that your fingertips barely brush: the slightest contact and it’s gone, gliding easily away, because its form is nearly perfect, there, a sphere in the…