THE PARAGON JOURNAL BLOG 

November 17, 2017

I stare at the folds of skin around my midsection. I can see my pores there, stretched indentations that line the surface of my stomach like moon craters. I’m some sort of foreign body, circling what it used to be, gravity pulling at it until it wore down. Like tidal w...

November 17, 2017

Guns and bombs were never much my style,

but to escape a miserable childhood and an
uncertain future, I joined the Army National
Guard.

I was 18 and right out of high school, in boot
camp, Drill Sargent Tower stood me and PVT
Fields up in front of the platoon, and laug...

November 17, 2017

Thursday, September 9, 1971 - Monday, September 13, 1971

We have no voices any longer.

You cannot hear our prayers.

Rebellion, riot, demands, negotiations, death.

The savage convicts were armed and masked.

They beat and bruised us into submission,

only then to guard us just...

November 17, 2017

“he was cleaning his gun…”

that’s what they said

four daughters and a son

that was his legacy

a beloved wife

who bustled at home

in a flowered housecoat

hanging christmas cards

at the holidays

she collected nesting dolls

canned her own garden vegetables

and made the world’s best...

November 17, 2017

In June of 1980 my manuscript submission had won me a place in the School of Visual Arts pilot program of study with writer/composer Paul Bowles in Tangier, Morocco.
At the time of my acceptance to the program I was working as a regional reporter at the Record, a newsp...

November 17, 2017

Twenty-nine years ago I was an off-off Broadway playwright clerking in a chi-chi toy store for grown ups on the Upper West Side when in walks Robin Williams. I was speechless. He smiled and nodded at me before exploring the various aisles.   I knew he was in rehearsal...

November 17, 2017

Getting picked last in gym class is a death sentence to the social life of a boy. But really, I was hopeless in gym class even when we weren’t picking teams. Chin-ups and rope climbing were one and the same to me, as they achieved the same effect: failure and shame.

Whe...

November 17, 2017

Crying babies, distressed mothers, and screaming old men fill the depths of the waiting room of the emergency department at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Hunched over, sitting in a puddle of tissues, I shift myself to get a better look at the receptionist desk. I turn white....

November 17, 2017

     There are no mirrors in heaven.  I’m certain of this.  I am also sure that gold is virtually worthless, since they pave the streets with the stuff.  Asphalt?  That might be pretty dear.  Ex-spouses, loud neighbors, and calculus professors will be absent, no matter...

November 17, 2017

“It’s time to take you home. Just sit right here Dad,” my Uncle Bob says to my grandfather. I get in on the other side of my Aunt Sally and Uncle Jim’s car. My uncle is the backseat with my grandfather and I. We are about to head over the mountain to North Adams. My Au...

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ISSN 2470-3834 (online)

ISSN 2470-7775 (print)