Jack Ridl

“The Garden Sure Got Bigger over the Winter”

That’s what my neighbor a mile down the road where I walk our dog always says the first time I see him out in the early April air. He stands there, bent into the wind, his smile wry, eyes agate blue clear. “Mine too,” I always say though all I grow are patches of flowers… Read more »

The Shingles

When he needed a new roof, he kept the old shingles piled beside his house. If you rolled one in your hand, it would crumble, the dust lifting into the acceptance of the air. He refused to haul them away, believed ghosts hid their stories there. Some nights, when the moon sends only a sliver… Read more »

A Man I Know

A man I know walks down the road behind his house. All year, he wears a scarf and stocking cap. When he nears our place, the dogs bark. I know there is always grape jelly on his shelf. He told me. And he also told me at night he thinks about birds. Sometimes he decides… Read more »

Jack Ridl

Jack Ridl is the author of the collections Broken Symmetry, co-winner of The Society of Midland Authors Best Book of Poetry Award and Losing Season, named Best Sports Book of the Year by The International Institute of Sport. His next collection, Practicing to Walk Like a Heron will be published by Wayne State University Press… Read more »

“Moose. Indian.”

–The last words of Henry David Thoreau Why not “It’s been a good life. I sucked out lots of marrow”? Why not “The cabin was cold, but I got a book out of it”? Or how about “Wolf. Settler.” “Honeybee. Loner.” Or “Why all those beans?” Or “My god, I kept track of everything except… Read more »