Tag Archives: James Mulhern


On our way to the dance, we made a fire under the bridge. Snow fell outside the darkness of our shadowed space. We sang about the bottles of beer we raised with gloved hands. You lay your arm over my … Continue reading

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The Crosswalk

Today I saw a father and son stepping onto the crosswalk. I braked and watched them pass. Son on father’s shoulders, headed to the park with swings. I drove on, thinking of you and wondered why you never lifted me … Continue reading

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The word of the day is copacetic. I see my brother and me packing suitcases for our trip. In the frame of the doorway my father stands. “Everything copacetic?” he says. One time I asked him where he learned that … Continue reading

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Arise and Go Now

I arrived at Rita’s house about noon. Her blue eyes widened when she opened the door. She patted the sides of her red hair and smoothed her pleated cotton nightdress, a pattern of honey bees. She was always donning unusual … Continue reading

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