Where I first put my arm around you. Clad in red coats and autumn hats, we walked from the Farmers’ Market, bags of basil in hand, then arm in arm. The dog waited. Where so much music has been made. Echoing through Lowertown where the shade of the stage and the...
When I see sweet potatoes, I often think of Deborah Torraine. Deb was a community organizer in the Twin Cities. She always referred to herself as a cultural worker; she was a mentor to new and emerging artists, and the Director of Community Engagement for the Saint...
we were Ferris wheel watchers firefly fighters dollar store cap gun robbers cops and Sunday creased collars private school scholars giving the church basket the dollars our mothers slipped into our pockets seconds before. we held doors for our elders and snuck to...
Early on, my library card was one of my most precious possessions. This small piece of heavy card stock, about three by four inches, was my passport to the adventure of other worlds, and also to my own adventures. My first card was issued at the bookmobile that came...
As a teenager I drove grain trucks, pickup trucks, and Massey Ferguson tractors for farmers in the Red River Valley. I hauled oats, corn, and soybeans and drove alongside combines as wheat poured into truck beds. I plowed fields and threw straw bales. While not...
Waitress walking across the bridge still smell like kitchen. Want to serve you my seven spice butter sauce blueberry eyes freshly baked buns grated parmesan hair. I float not boat over the syrup sweet river, once again resisting the jump. Anxious for your carrot...
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