by Nick Tabone | Dec 31, 2020 | Fiction
On Christmas evening they came down from the ship into a fresh fall of snow and walked on the narrow path between the high walls of the grain elevator and the ships side, treading carefully in the footprints of those who’d gone before to...
by Nick Tabone | Dec 25, 2020 | Poetry
from bridgesand the brinkof cliffs. Off of rocksand ship decks, piers and lidos,into oceans,frigid lakes and opalescent seas, over puddlesprivet hedges,brooks and felled trees. I have leapt down throatsand subway stairs,over...
by Nick Tabone | Dec 23, 2020 | Non-fiction
There are places your mother warned you about. You know. Past the train tracks on the outskirts of town. The Rouge River in Detroit is one of them. It’s here we unloaded our cargo of slag two nights ago. It is a pestilential...
by Nick Tabone | Dec 15, 2020 | Non-fiction, Prose
Days. Doldrum days. Underway. At anchor. Alongside. Slow loads and slow unloads. Day workers day work and watchkeepers keep watch. There are days when the belly of time swells with idle hours only for it to rip wide open like the crotch seam of a fat mans jeans...
by Nick Tabone | Dec 11, 2020 | Poetry
I’m a climber,I’m a clamberer.A jumperand a scrambler.I’m never late.I take the stairs two at a time. I’m a runnerI’m a skater.A brisk-walkera love or hater.I scissor-kick over fences.I climb ropes hand over hand. I’m a scaler,a...
by Nick Tabone | Dec 9, 2020 | Poetry
It might have been with Alistair and Billy.Behind the bushes on the hill at school.But I think it was with you, Chris. At the house on Whitney Avenue,with a menthol cigarette Melissa Hynes gave us.We smoked it in the garage with the chopped wood and the...
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