–for Aunt Jeanette She spoke with a Hungarian accent, her speech bordered on vines and blue forget-me-nots dropped her w’s in soft cushions beneath my feet, took a bowl of
When I drove to Jackson, Mississippi to meet with several members of the Writer’s Guild for lunch, I discovered the answer to a question that I’d been asking myself for
Eastern Tiger Swallowtail “Coincidences of pattern is one of the wonders of nature.” –Vladimir Nabokov The same evening he plugged himself into an amplifier and lit up with the
Satchmo, of course; the Marsalis family, naturally, even Ann Rice, and her vampirish underground. But me living in Louisiana? You’ve got to be kidding! I got here on subways and
The next morning a single Eastern Tiger Swallowtail,
Black wings and a blue band, outside the garage door.
All morning it sampled Hosta, and wouldn’t go away.
thunders its approach in the wrapping paper of grey clouds, deposits a calling card of silver beads on a chute of grass