sketchbook stories: the east side

safe harbor

Where my father, before he was my father, met my mother, before she was my mother, at the end of her waitressing shift in his turnabout for a sunset sail.

Where I passed out on the church lawn, Boone’s Farm pink and sticky on my lips; where I now drink bad coffee in the basement with strangers.

Where my mother and I picked up back-to-school clothes from the Sears Catalog distribution center run out of a local family’s garage.

Where my father and I ate buck-a-shuck oysters the year before he died.

The view, unchanged. Immortal as my mother’s art.

Illustration by my mom; currently making its rounds in the Great State of Illustration in Maine traveling exhibit

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