Our citizens and taxpayers deserve representation consummate with their representatives’ responsibilities. They expect—and should expect—that we set an agenda that advances people’s well-being and ensures that Ferguson Township is a great place to live, to work, and to play. In our pursuit of these goals, members of our board should act professionally, with comity and … More Professionalism, comity, and focus. That’s what you’re owed.
SHE KNELT AT THE END OF THE BED She knelt at the end of the bed, framed by the dark grain around the window. Her skin had turned bronze from days and days harvesting the trellised heirlooms and seeding flats by the row of staghorn sumac and black walnut. We’d pruned the tomato … More SHE KNELT AT THE END OF THE BED
KINDERTOTENLIEDER In nineteen hundred, Mahler said to Sibelius that a symphony must be like the world, it must contain everything. The world inside, for him, for Alma, for the house, became haunted by the silence of a daughter gone, cursed. That world is feared by all parents, and known … More KINDERTOTENLIEDER
BLACKWATER & OHIOPYLE BILE The Blackwater’s cataract rages repentless, unremitting, relentless, over the precipice. It drowns silence. * * * Why do you watch him squirt his vulture acid shit? Don’t you see he’s squatting over the Bill of Rights, and the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments? Diarrhea? Logorrhea? He’s already selling his shit as a … More BLACKWATER & OHIOPYLE BILE
GONE SILENT The bunting struck the window. The impact erased his senses, knocked out his breath, snapped his neck. Blank black eyes reflect the sun’s radiating disc, a glint on the obsidian surface. Shimmering blue feathers will fade. His arias, once sung to a mate whose company he wanted nothing more than to keep for … More GONE SILENT
GOSHAWK AT EMMONS GLACIER A goshawk darts from the tight-packed firs, pines, and hemlock spires. He wheels over the silt-creamed White River’s rapids spilling from Emmons Glacier over the valley’s moraine. He cries shrill and sharp on summer’s winds to some distant mate over the rivers, prairies, and meadows. At six thousand four hundred feet … More GOSHAWK AT EMMONS GLACIER
HOW DO THEY PAY ATTENTION? A great blue heron’s spindle feet hold its place on the river’s torrent’s rocks. Does this miraculous strange bird contemplate the tumult while we consider her, our fingers threaded? We walk past a sycamore, hollowed of heartwood. Husk. Crone. High water mark. A fawn raises her head, pauses her browse, … More HOW DO THEY PAY ATTENTION?