A hard rain fell on New York City today. It was one of those more memorable rains where even if you’re not out in the thick of it, the way it’s just lapping at the windows in intermittent sheets has everyone staring outdoors like they’ve never seen rain before. Maybe, too, it’s the way the […]
Author: p.w.eubanks
I came from New Jersey.
But ended up in Tennessee.
I left for Indiana.
And ran off to the Scottish highlands for a wee bit.
Before I went back to Tennessee.
From there on to Israel.
And eventually Morocco.
Followed by a little stint in Tennessee again.
And Missouri.
Until I finally came to New York City.
By way of Shelter Island ferry.
And now at best I think I'm
Where I belong.
With my feet on the ground.
Planted and ready for whatever's next.
Facing a little anxiety, or the time I accidentally took Daisy Mae’s pills
From the door of my apartment, the train station is almost exactly a seven minute walk. That’s five-and-a-half blocks and crossing the street once. The walk passes a gas station, a bagel shop (with terrible service but the best bagels you’ve ever had), multiple laundry mats and auto part stores, several residences, and at least […]
The Freedom and Imprisonment of Being a Toddler, or Vacationing in Virginia
Through a large swath of Virginia, there’s a road called the Skyline that hugs the Appalachian trail at the top of a series of mountain ridges. It’s basically exactly what you’d imagine it should be: pristine views, stretches of asphalt where you find yourself driving under, through, and above the cloudline, rain that pops up […]
On Migration
You may already know the first book of the Bible, Genesis, literally translates, “Beginnings.” The very next book, Exodus, means “mass migration.” We are made. And then, we go. And that story is repeated constantly throughout our holy texts. It’s Adam and Eve banished. It’s Abram’s journey out of his homeland. It’s Joseph sold into […]
The Boonton Line
I took the Mount Olive train to Gethsemane and slept through the Conductor’s call for tickets until, somewhere near Dover, or maybe it was Denville, keeping the vigil came back to me, so I woke up — It’s as if the rail car were a little grotto I saw with a friend from year’s ago, […]
The Death of Poverty
A couple years back I was riding a taxi through the Sahara during a terrible sandstorm on what should’ve been a one-way road (but wasn’t) with zero visibility. There were seven of us crammed into the taxi, a rundown Mercedes Benz, and the driver had what appeared to be the early stages of glaucoma in […]
Family, against all odds
I had a friend in college who once said to me that, though he considered himself an atheist, he wanted so badly to believe there was something, anything out there watching over us with tender love and care. He just couldn’t. I was always struck by this because I felt the exact opposite: whereas he […]
A Tiny Smidgen of Hope
In the midst of the election aftermath, I admittedly feel a lot like I’ve been thrown into one of those impressionist or baroque paintings on the walls of Hogwarts. I can see everything happening around me, as though it’s happening in a world I don’t belong in or understand. And I can do little more […]
The Prophet and the Lyre
sometimes I can’t speak to you (but the poet can) when words fall on deaf ears, I am mute despite my screaming, that all these years what you hear you only heard in song, so you wonder why I keep on talking, and the truth is, it’s just for me, because we love to hear […]
All Hail the Storm King
There’s something monstrous and all-encompassing about New York City, as though the longer you’re there, your memory of the way the world works elsewhere is slowly cached until it fades into oblivion. Everywhere about the City, nature prevails. The pigeons come close and tilt their heads to look at you as though you’re the one […]
