Memoir/Creative Nonfiction

By the time of his face-off with macaroni, the warranties on most of Dad’s body parts had pretty much expired. He’d shrunk three inches and suffered from a bad heart; but despite partial blindness and decrepit knees, he still walked, levitating himself by power of his will. Deep lines carved his face, and his lips,…

Big Chris https://prickofthespindle.org/ BigChris.PofS.scan

 http://www.primenumbermagazine.com/Issue19_NonFiction_MichaelRoyce.html “He simply did not see how the universe opening inside him was the same as the river inside his mother unwinding at its own pace, taking her away, following the only course it knows.” “Lightning at Dinner,” p. 17, Jim Moore, 2005 In companionable silence, Mother and I sat at the breakfast table as…

“Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.” ―Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Locksley Hall,” 1842 Past the hawthorne tree with its sharp-pointed leaves and hopeful red berries, I wander slowly through the cemetery, struggling to remember my grandfather, his dreams, and the memories of war that hunted within them. “Pesky, oh yes, Pesky, he was a wonderful…