Brian Doyle
The impossible possible
We had not one but two baptisms the other day. What absorbed me most was the way the little kids edged toward the event like wasps to a picnic.
Secret holes
Every family has more people at the table than you can see. If we set the right number of plates, we would have to build way bigger tables.
Praying strings
I gobble books by musicians. Bruce Cockburn's memoir has more virtues than most.
In the alley
Here’s a story. My first job, at fifteen, was in a bakery,
Cleaning the vast foul pots and kettles and baking pans
At night, for hours, alone, with horrifying chemicals, &...
Song to hum while opening mail from a friend
O the very fact that there are friends who write with their hands
Even if just the forefingers hammering away on keyboards, and...
The poem about what it’s about
Here’s my question. What if there was a poem
That didn’t know what it was about until it got
To the end of itself? So that the poet’s job isn’t...
Six stories of sin
The priest asked the thief why he would return a ruined tire. He said, with surprise, Because it wasn't mine, Father. Are you paying attention?
The deft of it
Just spent four days with my mom and dad,
Who together are hundred and eighty-four
Years old, and there are so many wry funny
Things to report, and some saddening things...
The machine gun
We found the scatter of rusted shards at the edge of a swamp. It reeked of death, in a cold, metallic way that only human beings would inflict.
Fluid mechanics
Sitting in a chapel high in the golden sculpted hills of California
A few minutes before Mass I reach down to a small wooden box...
The window through which to whisper
Talked to six high school students this morning,
Two young men and four young women, for 20
Minutes each. Ostensibly the discussion was all...
A fool’s awakening
I said something cutting and sneering, and my mother slowly put down her tea. Odd that I would remember that detail.
Poem for a dear friend
I don’t tell you how much it matters to me that you are my friend.
I’ll never tell you, bluntly and face to face. I can’t summon words...
Notes on loving your neighbor
It's easy to love Mr. C. It's not as easy to love Mrs. M., and it’s stone-cold not easy to love that guy down the street.
Grandmother’s communion: Lessons on the one true church
Her tiny cabin was part of an old Methodist campground, a fact that delighted her to no end. When it came to other religions, she had a sharp and amused tongue.
Poem after Sunday morning church service in a tent
In a huge hotel where the concierge told me there had been count them
Three weddings the day before, which is why they erected the epic tent....
Poem for a son going off to college
Looking at photographs of the kids. One of them is going
To college tomorrow. I used to wear that kid like a jacket.
He fell asleep instantly given the slightest chance. School,...
The Protestant
The Protestant was sitting alone at a table in the far corner. I assumed it was because no one else spoke Protestant.
Their illegible runes
Very many years ago I dated a roaring alcoholic
Who taught me many things about many things;
Much of what I learned was about me—such as,...