Michael T. Young: The Monster Under My Daughter’s Bed
During bedtime my little spider monkey
asked what we’re doing about global warming
Michael T. Young: Mulch Baptism
The green folds of hillside
in the distance will open like arms to embrace you,
our soils enriched by the return,
the reminder of who we all are.
Michael T. Young: Cataract
Prayers and wonder in these arches flicker
into smoke and ash, a single, blind beating wing
Michael T. Young: Scrawl
He likes to repeat to himself a phrase from a Keats letter: I will clamber through the clouds and exist. It steadies him like leaning against trees, or brewing coffee … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: Gossip
Wind tore at trees outside the window. Shreds of leaves and bits of twig clicked at the glass all day. There was nothing to be done and little we could … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: What My Daughter Thinks of Herself
My daughter browses a book on puberty. It tells her not to worry about her hips getting big and how to watch her weight. Even at eight she’s being … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: An American Tree
A tree is never just a tree, it’s not just maple, spruce, or birch but always this tree rooted in American soil, its rot peculiar to this latitude and history, … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: Bioluminescence
Old philosophers would call this look melancholia, but I see in this photo of my wife thinking weathers of competing beauty, someone who can be in two places at once: … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: The Risk of Listening To Brahms
I like action movies for the same reason I like Brahms, or undiluted scotch, the constant flux of the sea, or the sun’s light and heat stripped down to raw … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: Reading for Pleasure
I sometimes — no, often — have to say things out loud to understand them because that voice in my head doesn’t sound like me, doesn’t know that words have … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: Honeybees
I’ve felt myself changed simply walking into shade along a street; I’ve come suddenly upon the scent of snapdragon or heard a distant car crash and found my every thought … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: The Gun Gospels
I Litany Let the congregation reply— raise your hands, cry and plead as we praise the holy names: Bushmaster, Smith & Wesson, Hi-Point, Remington. But you misunderstand this … Continue reading
