His little legs are too small for the chair that they put him in. He is a good boy and he lays his hands in his lap. His world of playing probably was never like mine, like yours. He is young enough to know only the sounds of war and fear. Today they came to … More Aleppo Boy
The geese are daring to stay on the beach for a little longer. They seem to stop here on this island for one more party before they fly away home. Don’t cringe, the winter will wait just a little longer. The bay is a shore of sand bordering the wildland. There are three giant, gull … More The Island
As we drive down the road to our next destination she stares out the window. The sun shines down on her hair and makes it glow. It’s normally brown, but when she’s in the sun for very long it highlights. The sun uses her as a tapestry to paint its own beauty. She becomes a … More A Tapestry, Painted
A homage to Lieutenant Henry and Miss Barkley, but mostly to you. It’s fall. She said that to me while the leaves fell onto our cars. The maple ones were beautiful red, orange and yellow. Everything else just was. “It’s cold here.” “It’s always cold here.” She didn’t say much and I held her hand … More Fall
This is a short blurb I wrote a few days after the infamous Paris Attacks in November of 2015. Anna and I were in Ireland when it happened. It was a terrible day. We visited Paris about a week after the attacks. It is a lovely city. German bombs from both wars couldn’t destroy Paris, … More La Marseillaise
There’s a scar in Ireland. It’s short, tiny, but very deep, and barely healing. The people use it to segregate themselves. British supporting “Unionists” on one side, Ireland Republic supporting “Nationalists” on the other. In all honesty, there are hundreds of these scars; they cut in and out of neighborhoods. Some have nothing but tall … More A Scar Called Peace
The German drinks many beers. More than I can. He sits in a booth and I sit in another. He is surrounded by fat Americans. They tell him things about American politics and he listens patiently, with a look in his eyes. He is not here. He is still snowmobiling. But the Americans do not … More A Short Trip
The air is still and wet. The humidity causes my father’s bones to hurt. He stretches after he climbs out of the little tent. It’s just above freezing and frost covers the ground. My little brother lies in his sleeping bag, sleeping soundly. The cold doesn’t bother him. I’ve been awake off and on … More Summer’s Beast
Storied By Josh 