by Warren Gaston | Mar 18, 2021
We are far away from the house. Does the house sense our absence? No faucet drip for eleven days. The sink bone dry. The sun warms night from the windows. The drapes remain closed. The walls echo no sound of slippers shuffling toward first coffee. Does the floor miss...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 16, 2021
It was not satisfactorily explained to her. Was the runway too short, the passengers and cargo too heavy, the air flowing under the wings too slowly, the weather too quickly turned severe, the pilots caught in a wind shear. No matter. The man she loved for forty years...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 9, 2021
Sitting on the balcony looking out at Tampa Bay I watch the day progress in shadows. Early morning, I see the sun rise in the east, shadows cast by the balcony banister run west across the terra-cotta deck, crossing the tiles at oblique angles. At ten the precise...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 26, 2021
All day long I say to you, this is me. All day long, this is who I am, you say to me. This is me right now, I say. The same as you were an hour ago, you say. You haven’t changed since breakfast, I say. A little, you say. But it’s subtle....
by Warren Gaston | Feb 18, 2021
The full moon is searching for language, a word to free it from the sentimental cliché of the last hundred lunar years; silver beam, borrowed light, green cheese, honeymoon, and all that. The face of a man has been seen in the moon by millions for centuries, long...
