The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
At the Illinois State Fair, I was given five dollars and allowed to roam the midway. I didn’t want cotton candy or a corn dog. I wasn’t old enough for French Follies. Then I saw a kid carrying a giant panda that looked like a god other prizes might pray to. Of course, I lost... Read more »
Let them stretch out on the cool pews and listen to the valves of the church pump with coughs and foot scrapes. Let them discover the pleasing weirdness of pressing your belly against the seat edge and swinging your legs. Let them roll the bulletin into a telescope, stare a hole into their hands and... Read more »
So my friend Phil is telling me how he can’t get a date how he loves women and how they’re always giving him looks so I ask him what kind of looks so he winces at the beautiful braless young woman passing by at that particular propitious moment giving her a look of such longing... Read more »
The world of my youth was divided into girls who could and girls who couldn’t slide casually to the floor, one leg aft and one fore, while their faces retained a sprightly cheer. All summer, all year they stretched the critical tendons, descending in increments the way the willful enter a frigid lake, their arms... Read more »
The night before my older sister’s wedding, my mother and I sat up late hand-stitching a little cloud of netting to the brim of each bridesmaid’s hat To be alone with her was so rare I couldn’t think of what I had to say. We worked in silence beneath the chandelier until it was almost... Read more »
I find, after all these years, I am a believer— I believe what the thunder and lightning have to say; I believe that dreams are real, and that death has two reprisals; I believe that dead leaves and black water fill my heart. I shall die like a cloud, beautiful, white, full of nothingness. The... Read more »