by Jim Farfaglia No sign yet. Just the mound of dirt I dug up, slipped you into, sprinkled with rain water and proclaimed your home. I stop by every day, say my version of a prayer and pull a few jealous weeds snaking toward you. You are nothing yet but my(…)
by Jim Farfaglia Sitting in the bleachers, watching that 3-pointer leave your fingers, after watching you practice it for hours under our streetside basket. Seeing it follow my hopes, as it falls through the net. Listening in the audience, picking out your voice from all your chorus mates. Hearing it hit that satisfying(…)
by Jim Farfaglia Observance I think it’s a blind sparrow, you say, drawing my attention. In silence we witness this curiosity: visionless, but aflight. She’s finding her way though, you decide. I nod, in communion.
by Jim Farfaglia 33 1/3 Today’s digital music holds nothing compared to how I once held those timeless vinyl discs, each with a tiny hole that fit them so neatly atop my turntable where they slowly ran in circles and where I gently set upon them a diamond needle and listened as my(…)
by Jim Farfaglia The Gauchos Memorial Day Weekend, 1968. A 9 year old boy leans against his bicycle, waiting in anticipation, just across the street from the Nestles parking lot. He watches them prepare for the parade: tuning their horns, strapping on their drums, shining their wooden rifles, then follows them through their(…)
The CNY Arts Center will hold a class for adult writers entitled “Building Your Writing Muscle.” Instructor Jim Farfaglia will teach this six-week class for beginning writers or experienced writers who are looking to develop better writing skills. The class will be taught for six consecutive Thursdays beginning June 7. Class time will be from(…)
by Jim Farfaglia Diner No matter how your day has gone or what the weather is doing, when you walk through its doors – the guys behind the grill calling hello – it feels a little like coming home. Long lines are sure to form depending on the day’s special, which you can easily guess(…)
by Jim Farfaglia They smile from slender branches, happy to have survived the winter, their sweet joy perfuming the air whenever the wind happens through. They drop off one by one and gather on the new-green grass: a fruit tree’s lucky coins, tossed on a backyard wishing pond. They look back at their(…)