Shame

Writer's Almanac, in my view, is par to my Slick granny's buscuits and gravy. On behalf of the education of future generations of Kentuckians(ites?), shame on the gutless tricks that pulled it.

Here's one that inspired me, work-bound one dateless morning in the mid-sized family sedan: Topograph, by Sharon Olds (Let Keillor read it in your head).

After we flew across the country we got in bed, laid our bodies delicately together, like maps laid face to face, East to West, my San Francisco against your New York, your Fire Island against my Sonoma, my New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas burning against your Kansas, your Kansas burning against my Kansas, your Eastern Standard Time pressing into my Pacific Time, my Mountain Time beating against your Central Time, your sun rising swiftly from the right, my sun rising swiftly from the left, your moon rising slowly from the left, my moon rising slowly from the right until all four bodies of the sky burn above us, sealing us together, all our cities, twin cities, all our states united, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.