I saw in the sky a skein of geese like a neck- lace un- done under- sides wink- ing grey and white pearls the sky had loosen- …
Read more– For Len Gasparini I could have mumbled a poem at you Easily yet the mornings bring a batter up That knows little of what a true Arm presses from pectoralis to wrist Twisting ahead of a nervous bat Quickly adjusting But my eyes if you look know Nothing Like the sound that whips by my ear My arm a clipping sailing cutter No one hears This is not poetry this is the manner By which I begin and end The poem yours homerun Slammed back from a 90 foot…
Read moreThe commuter train was running a few minutes late. I texted Claudia to let her know. I was excited to…
In one sense, 1972 is an extension of some of Domenico Capilongo’s past work. Once again, Capilongo writes about growing…
The 1960s continued to see increasing numbers of Italians immigrating to Canada. Virtually all those who came, did so on…
SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play…
“Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.” (Italian proverb) Monday, 9 a.m. Not writing. Dim, dreary…