Category Archives: Aging

Boomer

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Curtains of rain drawn against warmth and sun keep the study, brooding books framed in orange firelight, at the grey edge of darkness. I sit overstuffed in a grandfather’s chair, feet in their wool kicked up on the hearth steaming … Continue reading →

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Stuff

Posted on December 6, 2013 by Jim Stewart

A hanging bicycle the sleeve of a coat the chopping block by the woodpile the woodpile a motorcycle a car with no doors an unfinished model boat car doors a pile of papers on the counter a pile of papers … Continue reading →

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Now Your Leg Can Feed Your Heart

Posted on December 5, 2013 by Jim Stewart

“That’s where they got the replacement parts,” you say as you point at your shin. I look and sure enough there is a slice on the inside of your leg, neat butterflies, from your ankle halfway to your knee. Then … Continue reading →

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Dead-end Dad

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Flags wave in the breezy dark as houselights shine for no one. Across the street below, tired ghosts dance on closed garage doors. My cigar glows and ash sticks to my shirt. The wind tries to brush it away, but … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, family, Poem, Slice of Death, Slice of Life | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments