• by Robert P. Barsanti • The good news finally arrived this weekend. It came over with a wedding party on a rocking ferry in a thick, thirty-degree fog on Friday. We had prepared for more bad news this weekend; we lined up polar fleece, long pants, sweaters, and a […]
Tag: Nantucket essay
Club for Boys
• by Robert P. Barsanti • Spring landed triumphantly last weekend. The oaks and elms blazed kelly green against a deep blue sky. The wetlands and swamps glowed green and white as the year made the turn into spring and carried us forward into another summer. The Juice Bar has […]
My Mother Carried Napkins
• by Robert P. Barsanti • I have just been invited to a fiftieth anniversary party for the Jordans. The invitation arrived in a huge cream envelope with my name and address in script across the front. It also arrived with a bachelorette party of bills from the car company, […]
House
• by Robert P. Barsanti • Things are getting ready to happen out of sight. The world is sodden in April: the snow melts, the rain drips, the fog beads along the wires. Blind white roots push out and break the frozen ground. The daffodils have pushed through the dead […]
Storm Warning
• by Robert P. Barsanti • We felt the storm slip onto us from the East. The stars winked out the night before and the wind turned. By the gray light of the morning, the sky had grown hair and the wind had grown wet. Under the sound of words […]
A Sandbar in a Riptide
by Robert P. Barsanti The ocean is easy in Maine. Off of Southport Island, it slips all the way out at low tide, leaving mud and seagulls, then it slowly walks itself back in. At low tide, you smell the salt, the rot, and the weeds. Then, the water lifts […]
Sing the Body Electric
by Robert P. Barsanti In August, the kids start to leave. Over the country, schools have broken through the Labor Day wall and call the young back for practice, or for team building, or even classes. The calendar sneaks up with a suitcase and a boat ticket. The last week […]