The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
A siren goes by, the scream cuts through me even though my child is home. For a moment I think… Where am I? In the middle of the night a cry, dreamed or heard, a wave washes over the body of my child. I have let her drown or fall. She has fallen from a... Read more »
In the month of May when all leaves open, I see when I walk how well all things lean on each other, how the bees work, the fish make their living the first day. Monarchs fly high; then I understand I love you with what in me is unfinished. I love you with what in... Read more »
Your beauty, nude not naked on the bed, is far more a gift than I ever expected. I watch languor recline 1n your wise grey eyes while slate hummingbirds carved as earrings dangle from golden hooks. I quiver in your breath and the ceiling fan halts in that instant. We look at one another with... Read more »
After an absence that was no one’s fault we are shy with each other, and our words seem younger than we are, as if we must return to the time we met and work ourselves back to the present, the way you never read a story from the place you stopped but always start each... Read more »
The speaker points out that we don’t really have much of a grasp of things, not only the big things, the important questions, but the small everyday things. “How many steps up to your back yard? What is the name of your district representative? What did you have for breakfast? What is your wife’s shoe... Read more »
The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed... Read more »