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All Posts By

Jon Pott



We seem to be creatures of deep and ineffable yearnings which attach to one thing or another — which never…
February 24, 2022

In Her Time

Eighteen years ago this week, on a brilliant morning after a night snowstorm, we laid our ninety-three-year-old mother to rest.
January 26, 2022

Field of Dreams

“Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously…
September 28, 2021

Early Grace

It would have been around 1950 -- most likely, as now, with snow on the ground -- that I wrote…
February 10, 2021