D. R. James

Hospice Report

My wife comes home, cold, slides into bed to warm against my sleepiness, and sighs. That snow. I drove through everything. To the toddler who’d never walked, every Friday for eighteen months beyond predictions, his slack presence swaddled on the living room couch. Encephalitis— nothing wrong with that little heart. Though the tiny mother’s had […]

D. R. James

The Same Game

In this poem, D. R. James writes of all the ways in which your hometown basketball games haven’t changed.

basketball