essays and letters · a selection

  • writing by firelight
    Lightning did not start the fire that killed my aunt; the storm had no lightning. There was no rain to put out the fire that killed my aunt; the storm had no rain. The storm was all wind.
  • two deaths, more to come
    As we entered the ICU we could see the light was off in the far corner room. Even as the doctor was walking towards me I remember thinking: where did they move him?
  • a thank you for everything
    Warm breezes said it’s not December; winter is not coming. Pure bright moonlight whispered, you are not on earth; this is the light of another sun. Warmth in the sand spoke through my skin: this is what should always be but never is. The rock show became a ritual; the ritual became a church; the church became a shared dream.
  • thousand mile home
    Near 3:30 in the morning I wandered the aisles of a truck stop in Provo, asking the girl behind the counter which price hot dogs were on the little spinning heater, as I had only two relative sizes to match up to three items on the price schedule.
  • student special
    I went back to an apartment I’d looked at four hours earlier, and a long haired bearded shirtless guy was still sitting in front of the next unit playing the bongos. I reached for the unlocked door of the place I wanted to see and he called out to me. “There’s a naked Indian in there; you might want to hang a minute.”

A full list of letters is in the archives either by category or date.