Sibling Rivalry
A flame in my throat, so hot it scalds like cocoa, my breath a yelp, an angry stitch in my side, feet slapping the sidewalk, saddle shoes too tight, shorts too taut, my older brother so far ahead, cantering like a pony, all slim and horsehair sleek, John Wayne tall but spare in the chest, legs and body chestnut, racing to the roar of the sun. A flash at the corner, and he’s gone. I falter, hunch over, throb for air, sob in, gasp out, legs on fire, totter home, fall onto the porch. He hands me an ice cream sundae, a dollop of extra fudge on top. Bare arms barely touching, we let the...
Read MoreClint and Buck
I. I met Clint Eastwood in the hills today, that familiar grin, slouch, that laconic stance. Faithful to the etiquette of the trail, he rolled out a howdy, I repeated him, reversed passage to see if the star had truly passed me by. Was the man long-limbed enough, spare enough? Does Clint put on khaki shorts like those, that bland kind of tee, does he live nearby, like to hike, to see bees swarm & butterflies on the lam? The thought bore with me, echoed in the silence of my solo trek to the height of the ridge, the silence of my break, the slog back to an empty fridge,...
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