As if to assure him he was in their mind

Now they were nowhere to be seen. The day
Became oppressive. Trees reached silently
Against the light-filled, unapproachable sky.
The glossy pool lay shtum, and would not play.
What had come over the sun he could not judge.
The petunias' puce had never seemed so hot.
A fly whined its unique and languid note.
Time which speeds by stood fast and would not budge.
Then they came back. They were subdued and kind,
As if to assure him he was in their mind
In that weird interval when the world was static.
And time started again. Trees became normal,
Flies buzzed as usual. But they still seemed formal –
Almost, he thought, they seemed apologetic.

DM Black, "Some People Just Aren't Reliable"

the contemporary novel

An old man dies and two young people get married,—that is just about all that happens in 500 pages. Of complications and solutions, of conflicts of the heart and conflicts in general, of excitement and surprises there is virtually nothing. . . . Naturally I don’t claim that this is the best way of writing a contemporary novel but it is the one that is called for.

Theodor Fontane

words

soffit
n. - The under horizontal face of an architrave or overhanging cornice; the under surface of a lintel, vault, or arch; a ceiling.

father

He will be getting dark, soon,
And loom through new snow.
I know his ghost will drift home
To the Ohio River, and sit down, alone,
Whittling a root.
He will say nothing.
The waters flow past, older, younger
Than he is, or I am.

James Wright, "Youth"

poetry

Poems are objects in the world...They exist, like raccoons.

Joel Brouwer, "In Praise of Promiscuous Thinking"

grief time

Tonight the Andover fireworks
will have to go on without me
as I go to bed early, reading
The Man Without Qualities
with insufficient attention
because I keep watching you die.
Tomorrow I will wake at five
to the tenth Wednesday
after the Wednesday we buried you.

Donald Hall, "Independence Day Letter"