A Day in the Lab
I tutor in the writing lab; I like the one on one. I once taught a composition class, where many students held sentences awkwardly, and dropped them to broken pottery pieces. Everything was broke. Most of them were on a mode: their language was hip to a stuffy dress code: everything was tucked in. I...
By a Song
Memory, like the organ, is an instrument capable of infusing the most secular music with spiritual sounds. — James McConkey When I was in the first grade, my favorite song was John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High.” I was a little confused when I heard it — figurative language still eluded me. How could a boy...
When Aretha Sings …
“It just ain’t no way, baby . . . for me to love you . . . if you won’t let me.” She still sends hot chills up my spine, and I am fourteen again, and it’s Saturday morning, and I’m cleaning our house so I can party that night, and Aretha’s on the hi-fi...
Curvature
My big sister grew up unable to dance because of the scoliosis, because of the Milwaukee brace she wore twenty-three hours a day beginning in second grade. So she taught her fingers to dance, fast skinny fingers on piano and trumpet. The living room was her ballroom. The piano by the fireplace obeyed. Celia could...
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