Arts & Culture

POEM: Prayers to John Grisham

                On this flight to Pittsburgh the man next to me reads the latest thriller with lips aflutter. He reads with Talmudic fervency divining the permanent in black and white. I look half-eyed … Read More

By / July 31, 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On this flight to Pittsburgh the man next to me reads the latest thriller with lips aflutter.

He reads with Talmudic fervency divining the permanent in black and white.

I look half-eyed at the city splayed gray below me- the air clear, spires of scrapers just below the wings. This morning, making my son's bed his room came alive with signs of his being- the pillow shaped to the curve of his head- and the air that carried the scent of him as sheet and blanket crested, passed through me true as God's unutterable name.