A Ship Made of Grass and Dirt


By Nathan James

Puppo tilled the fields out back with his Sunday fedora on, the plow slicing through soil like a prow. While digging the root cellar, Nini’d found a mammoth bone and scudded it to some bigwig in the city. That’s how my grandparents plotted their course—no maps, no calipers—just using faith as their north star. They slept side-by-side every night on flypaper and woke each morning to add rungs to their masts. One Saturday, they leant those poles against the sky and climbed—the moon of Nini’s bloomers shining, but no matter.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s