Musings

Malcolm X Park #1

I bathe in dusk while the mockingbirds build, the starlings gossip, and the sparrows nag. A mosquito brushes my face…

Snowmen, Snats, and Pigoons

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood I knew Margaret Atwood was careful crafter of dystopias after reading The Handmaid’s Tale…

My Houseplants

I wonder if they know that I can hear their roots burrowing, and their stems stretching, and their leaves sighing.…

Piano Lessons

With a palpably shiny bald spot and a temper wound tighter by every passing year, Mr. East was, at best,…

Quantum Crime

Echoing up 15th Street, I hear the rotten rotor cuffs of the political vehicle hurtling along democracy’s poorly-paved lane: the…

The Last Leaf

May I never be the last leaf still clinging to the tree, rattling out her self-pitying song though autumn’s long…

Ode to Webster

“Look it up!” I repeat this daily refrain like the worn-out chorus of a pop song. “How do you spell…

Don’t Swat the Skeptic

Climate activists, climate deniers, climate heretics. Every era has its debates that ring with the moral fervor of religion. I’ve…

Folk in the Fortress

Verbs are the engines of sentences. The advice from master writers: ditch the adjectives and adverbs—they add flourish, but not…

Borrowed Gardens

Among DC’s finest features are the townhouse gardens—dutifully tended patches of nature that spring up all around my neighborhood, in…