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SAINTS AND SINNERS
I am a distant grandchildof saints and Herod,kings and lords, andVisigoths for good measure. That half of me iswoven of ever thinnerbranches on a treethat threatens to topplefrom the lightnessof its other side, rootsdeep in the rich soilof Lithuania, the rootshitting bedrock, andthe branches stuntedand there a simpleAshkenazi Jew.
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UNKNOWABLE
How often have wesat in pews, on the zafuand heard an enrobedman or woman say“Let me describe for you”that which cannot bedescribed, that whichis beyond mere words. We would be better servedto just sit in silenceand hear deeply whatwe need, not empty wordsmeant to lead, to mislead,for you God does not speakand you cannot claim…
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MID MORNING SONG
He leans against the walloutside the Prêt à Mangerwitting with his dogon the old Mexican blanketsthat look uniquely out of placeon a cool London morning.He sips the now fetid coffeein its Styrofoam cup,its Burger King logoand temperature warning.His hair is long, mostlygray with streaks of white,his beard whitewith swaths of blond, helooks as though hejust…
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THE SAINT OF UNCOUNTED NAMES
A desert again,always a desertand she the saintof uncounted names,her crying eases, nosmile appears for thisMadonna of the coyotes,her orange-orbed eyesshuttered against theslowly retreating sun.Once her tears wateredthe desert sands, mixedwith the blood of a Christnow long forgotten, trans-substantiated into a spiritwe formed in our image,no longer we in his.The Blessed Motherwatches, holding hope,holding space,…
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THE DOTTED LINE
Now that I have discoveredmy Catholic and Protestant ancestorsI know it is time to considerwhat hell must be like. I know it is not fire and brimstone,that went the way of old lorewhen the Impressionists came along. So I imagine Hell must bevery much like getting caughtlooking at the new carsin the showroom while you…
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SIN
A poet suggested that sinwas created by the Christians,wrong, of course, but perhapsjust being politically correctin not naming the Jews asits creator, or at leastgiving it a name and rulebook. And on the point of accuracythe poet might have notedthat the Jews createdthe Christians, for Jesuswas one of them, a reformerbefore Judaism would allowanything beyond…
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COMING BACK
He appears, rising from the horizonthe sun at his back, as if a miragetaking physical shape and form. He approaches slowly, your eyesstraining to separate himfrom the sun’s growing glow. You wonder if his is a holy manrobed and with a staff, walkingto announce his long awaited return. As he grows closer, you realizehe is…
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AFTERLIFE
In the farthest reachesof the afterlife, the old mengather each day, althoughday and night are meaninglessto them, just assignedfor purposes of the writer. The Buddha recites sutrashoping the others willbe in the moment with him,while Hillel smiles, standson one foot and dreamsof a lean pastrami on ryewith a slice of half sour. Christ muses on…
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NOT YET
The man walked into the old dinerlooking not at all happy,dressed in what looked likea white robe he found in some alley. He ordered coffee and glancedaround, as if seeking onefamiliar face, finding manythat looked like that of his father, like him,for that matter, and he knewfrom this quick glance thatthey were not yet ready,…
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LEAD ME NOT
Strange as it may seem,I was tempted to considerCatholicism, not the Roman kindbut that of the breakawy churcheswho accept all, gay or straight,married or divorced, the wholelot of mankind just because. They do believe in heavenwhich is a good alternativeto the Bardo, and having choicesis a good thing even in death. I was truly tempted…
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an old writer and his words 