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Ducts.org - Essays
Why, I have so often wondered, am I unable to let my bed be just a bed?

I wish the magic of those first heady days on the hospice ward would not slip away

"Fine." It’s like saying “beige.” Am I molten purple? Ashen red? Storm cloud black tinged with emerald sadness?

Northern Broken Dash
Featuring Iris Anixter, Sarah Doudna, CJ Giroux, Norman T. Leonard, Matthue Roth, and Benjamin Harnett, with guest arts editor, Colin Grubel.

Photograph by Peter Ahn
Photograph by Peter Ahn
This high school teacher then touched my daughter’s hand, the small of her back, her soul.

One unshakable truth is that home is where the body has been.

I pull on my shoes and jacket and reach to unlatch the front door of our houseboat. Loud screams stop me in my tracks.

Untitled Collage. Mixed medium on wood, 36"x36", 2012.
Untitled Collage
The subject line of my sister’s email to me on the anniversary of our father’s death contained his initials, followed by a question mark: RDB?

Marina Tsvetaeva was an exile all her life. She coined a famous phrase: All poets are Yids, which means that all poets are Jews, exiles, foreign. A real poet cannot be comfortably placed in any context.

We Carnies didn’t see ourselves as being in the restaurant business. We were in the social-change business.