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THE HOUSE ON PEABODY
It was brick, red I am told.on a quiet street not farfrom 16th Street and its traffic.It was small, but a good homefor a couple with a child or twoin the heart of the District. I have no recollection of it,save the tile, black and whitein the bathroom, the radiatoron which I hit my head,and…
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DYBBUK
The evening slowly entersWarsaw — along Aleje Solidarnoscia lumbering truck backfires — some old onescringe — thoughts collapsing — into rail cars — lighteningbolts on stiff black wool uniforms — polished jackboots —a wrought iron gate — Arbeit Macht Frei The evening slowly entersWarsaw along Aleje Solidarnoscia truck backfires a sudden flockof sierpowka Eurasian Collared…
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LADDER
You have to stop and wonder,the child said, why peoplecan take joy in killing, whypeople can scheme each other,why people can cheat if they can. Birds, the child added, onlytry and scheme people for food,why they cheat for the sakeof cheating, kill for pleasure,yet we say we are the higher species. Perhaps, the child concludes,it…
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DRINKING TEA IN KABUL*
Rockets flash brieflyacross the chilled sky,plumes of smoke, ashcarried offby impending winter. Over the lintel of the entryto the Inter-Continental Hotel Chicago,carved deeply into the marbleEs Salamu Aleikumstaring implacablythrough ponderousbrass framed doorsonto the Miracle Mile.Countless guestspass below itunseeing. My son and Isit across a small tablespilling bits of tapasonto the cloth,laughing lightlyat the young boybathed…
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GIMME A HUG
It seems odd, as I am nota hugger by nature,I love trees and hugfamilially but asidefrom family, huggingjust is not somethingI ever did. Now, when huggingis a potential deathsentence if finishedI see many around meall at a safe distanceand feel a strong desireto embrace some,knowing they wouldwelcome my arms. When this is over,when distance issomething…
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BUCKET LIST
Crossing the Rubicon,or any other European Riverfor that matter. Skiing the backcountryor Black Diamond at Taos Mountainor Aspen or Vail. Hiking to the basecampof Everest, or walking some portionor all of the Appalachian Trail. Standing shoulder to shoulderwith hundreds of othersat the jazz festival. Hugging my sons orkissing my grandchildrenon their birthdays. Forgetting all that…
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PENNED IN
He stares at the collectionof pens crammed tightly intoa coffee mug whose handlehad long since broken away. He knows some are dead,awaiting a proper burial,following a brief memorialservice paying homageto their illustrious past. He is certain that oneor more is secretly harboringthe poem or story that hehas been meaning to write,the one that the journalon…
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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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A FOOL’S ERRAND
Looking back, it is easy to see nowwhat was difficult then, notlooking like complete fools,we all did, but knowing that we looked like fools and wouldfor the foreseeable future,those of us lucky enoughto survive and actually have one. We knew they wanted to break us down, rebuild usin the desired format, alwaysbending to unit cohesion,following orders thoughtlessly,never…
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QUESTION POSED, AWAITING A RESPONSE
I stooped and spoketo a stone, asking the question.I was here before you arrivedand I will be her long after you leave.I held the sand in my handwarm from the sun, asking the question.I came after your arrivedand I will leave long before you are gone.I held the winter wind on the tipof a finger,…
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an old writer and his words 