The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Needing them still, I come when I can, this time to the sea where we share a room: their double bed, my single. Morning fog paints the pale scene even paler. Lace curtains breathing, the chenille spread folded back, my father’s feet white sails furled at the edge of blue pajamas. Every child’s dream, a... Read more »
I looked into the room a moment ago, and this is what I saw — my chair in its place by the window, the book turned facedown on the table. And on the sill, the cigarette left burning in its ashtray. Malingerer! my uncle yelled at me so long ago. He was right. I’ve set... Read more »
Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating— Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, A way down the hill. Away down... Read more »
listen, he said, you ever seen a bunch of crabs in a bucket? no, I told him. well, what happens is that now and then one crab will climb up on top of the others and begin to climb toward the top of the bucket, then, just as he’s about to escape another crab grabs... Read more »
We have traveled all this way to see the real France: these trays of apricots and grapes spilled out like semi-precious stones for us to choose; a milky way of cheeses whose names like planets I forget; heraldic sole displayed on ice, as if the fish themselves had just escaped, leaving their scaled armor behind.... Read more »
In memory of Dr. Tom Critchfield The babies, CEOs of his life, set the schedule, write the script. They arrive in predawn hours and the middle of the afternoon unaware of an overflowing waiting room or his need for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The police recognize his car, escort him to the hospital... Read more »