First grade. The first day of public school. The very first memory I can locate specifically in time and place. Our teacher leads a recitation of words I’ve never heard before. Yet somehow all the other students already have the words memorized, and join in. I don’t understand. Why do all the other kids know …

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  Whose weeds these are I’m sure I know. I’ve watched them as they sprout and grow. No time to rest or sip a beer— I better run and grab my hoe.   My little garden slowly clears of undergrowth. I persevere. My fingers blister; shoulders ache This longest evening of the year.   I …

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