Several crucifixes
a jug of oil
and one small silver jar
containing flat, tasteless bread.
White plastic collars
lying around like abandoned haloes
and a typewriter
that spitted out sermons.
And in the vault, behind iron doors
books of names, the same names
found on the gravestones
behind the church.
And in the basement a sauna
where we congregated
every Friday night
to gaze at the pit of fire.
I roamed the country in my youth, but Crested Butte, the charming mountain town that owned my heart, kept me from straying too far.
Despite living in six different states over …
Every schoolchild in America should have to read LeBron James’ marvelously hokey essay in Sports Illustrated explaining why he’s going home to northeast Ohio. Before that, of course, they should …
It is early July. As I look through my front window, I can see what’s left of the spring blooms that only months ago covered our front yard. The tall …
Couples whirled across the floor as the band played music reminiscent of the Rat Pack days. The lights were dim, and strings of small white lights stretched like the spokes …
It’s been nearly a year since I arrived “home” in Massachusetts after being away for 19 years. But I’m not entirely certain that it really is home.
It does have an …
