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LIAR
It is a strange feeling to discover that youhave been made a liar by your own DNA. For years I was Jewish to the core, halfat least Sephardic, Portuguese, and thatnot merely extracted but fully blooded. My diet at Passover expanded greatly,no longer dictated by Northerners whoeasily banned that which they did not grow. But…
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THE HALF TRUTH
As a Jewish kid in a small cityI suppose I had it pretty good, enoughof us that I didn’t totally stand out,and it helped living a single blockfrom the Jewish funeral home, somejust didn’t want to travel all that farwhen the inevitable time came. But we soon moved to the suburbs,the shtetl neighborhood was gone,and…
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WRITING MY STORY
With the stroke of a pen,they enabled me to write the story,gave a framework on whichI could hang all mannerof dreams and assumptions,inviting a search I neverquite got around to making. I wandered the beachesof Estoril in my dreams,stalked the avenues of Lisbon,looking for a familiar face,but found only ghosts. With the stroke of a…
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TRIPTYCH
A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…
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PARENTAL MOMENTS
My adoptive parents diedsix years apart, I receivedtwo announcement textsfrom the son they had together. We negotiated her obituary,and I am waiting for her funeral,but after seven years, I havegiven up hope of that happening. I did visit my birth mother’sgrave, placed a small stone on hers, watered the groundwith tears of sadness and joy at…
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AN ORPHAN
I knew you’d show up in my dream,it was a matter of time and faith,or perhaps just playing the averages,sooner or later became sooner, that’s all. You had nothing to say, but that, toowas to be expected, for I have neverheard your voice, and imagine it akinto the voice of the GPS or perhaps Siri.…
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TOOLING AROUND
I have always wantedto use the word lugnutsin a poem, but stillhave never foundthe way to do so. It is much the samewith my full setof socket wrenches,still in futile searchfor a matchingset of sockets. I keep my bastardfile in the garagewith the other filesand tools, butmy name isthe only one in it.
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WAITING, STILL
I stood on the cornerwaiting patiently for you. It seemed like hours. It was probably minutesbut Einstein was rightabout relativity also. You never arrived,but I hadn’t expectedyou to do so, that wasthe nature of us. I will wait againin two weeks. Same corner as usual,but an hour earlier. You will not show upand will offer…
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A TWISTED ROAD
Walking down the helicalroad, untwisting as you goyou discover placesyou never imagingedvisiting, nothinglike the path youthought you knew well. Stop and claimyour new heritage,find yourselfon an alien map,bury yourself in booksof new and ancient history. Pause here and considera King of Scotland,knights and lords,in the far distanceknow that you claima link to a manso honored…
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HISTORY
It was easierhaving no historyof my own, borrowedhistories are easily discarded. After a while, youbegin to think of the adoptedhistory as your own,and no one doubts you. I have a history nowcountries woven into my DNA, always presentbut never before seen. It is mine, I passed italong to my sons, andalthough it grows weakerit is a…
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an old writer and his words 