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Poem: My Father’s Hands, in memoriam

A new poem: “My Father’s Hands, in memoriam”

father, fatherhood, poem, poems, poet, poetry

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I enjoyed a Black Asheville History lesson this week with Miss Sophie Dixon—who shared stories about Elder John Hayes, Stumptown, Shiloh, and the Hillcrest “High” Steppin’ Majorettes & Drum Corps—all at WRES radio station, which is the former home of the NAACP in Asheville and a place rich in history, legacy, memory, love, kindness, and possibility.

"Maybe that's my task: to imagine myself as someone capable of infinite love," said Eric Tran after reading a new poem, a third-person eulogy of himself. "Maybe I am infinitely full of love—or maybe I want to be."

Creature at Biltmore

Poof at the Biltmore Conservatory

Looking up in the Biltmore Conservatory today

Elliott Moss @elliottmoss and team are at Little Louie’s @littlelouiesavl in West Asheville smoking the good stuff. If you haven’t been, don’t know what you’re waiting for: Wednesday to Sunday (soon to expand) starting at noon. Brisket, meatballs, wings; pierogies and sandwiches; etc.

When I take my son Nicholas to Camp Royall, it’s a tradition to take a pic in front of the sign. But it rained the entire drive from Asheville to Moncure, which is south of Chapel Hill a little past Pittsboro, and he was ready to start camp … and I was ready to start the drive back home—and keep my phone dry. Here’s to a great camp retreat week for everyone!

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