-
UNKNOWING
Twenty years ago todayand there was no band playing,at least not for me, for I knewnothing of you yet, and youknew nothing of me either. I have met you sincein a moment of silence,looking at a yearbook pictureknowing what was not, whatnever was or could be. I recite the Kaddisheven though my Judaismhas been laid…
-
APPROACHING NIGHT
Arising into nightthe departing suntangos away with its cloud,memories soon forgotten. Other dancers take the stage,now a romance, nowa war dance, feathers raisedin prayer to unseen gods. Night will soon bringits curtain across this stage,the avian casts’ final bows takenthe theater will darken, awaitinganother performance,a new script tomorrow,but for this solitary momentof frozen grace, it…
-
WEBBING
The giant spider in its black shroudsits irritated in the center of its webwishing it ever larger, demandingthat others enter, become enthralleduntil it defines the parametersof the universe the spider imagines. The giant spider silently seethesat the once gardener who, havingtasted the forbidden fruit,has closed the screened dooras he reluctantly departed the gardendiminishing the web’s…
-
WRONG AGAIN
As a teenager, like somany others of our narrowminded, obsessed gender,I imagined myself a great lothario,girls on the edge of womanhoodlining up for my attention. The absurdity of that dreamwas lost on me and my peers,testosterone drowning it in a seaof hormones, and we were obliviousto the real obstacle alwaysright in front of us, that…
-
REAR VIEW MIND
I spent too much time lookingbackward, looking into the past,looking into the mirrorto frame a dream historyof my desires and fears.He called one morning, lefta message, “Mother died,more details will follow.”A mother his by birth,mine by legal act.I should have felt stunnedanger, I said quietly to myselfhe’s cocky, has issues, and wentabout momentary mourning.That is…
-
WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
My history is like an ill-sewn quilt, odd piecesof parents stitched looselytogether, always ready to comeapart, fade or be thrown away. Perhaps my history ismore like a belovedold pair of jeans, holesappear and are patched,patches wear out and arereplaced, or the hole isjust left, as if it weresomehow a fashion statement. There is little normalwhen…
-
MAP STORE
The bride walks down the aisletrailing a veil of tearsrolling in the dustof too many centuries,encrusting the virgin. Albert Einsteinpurchases a map of Taos. Bookkeeper hunchesover ledger sheetstallying night winds acrossthe frozen pond, logwedged in the ice. Douglas Macarthurpurchases a map of Hue. Monitors blare newsfrom other worlds, flickeringacross cups of half emptycoffee and cigarette…
-
A WELL REHEARSED SILENCE
Of course there is something I oughtto say, moments like this require it,it goes without saying, painfully. I practiced lines for hours, rehearsedin my dreams for weeks, knewfor years I’d be rendered mute. My tongue swells, threateningto escape my mouth or take refugedeep within my esophagus. Your silence is only compoundingmy anxiety, how can I,…
-
ON ARRIVING
They arrive after a long flightfrom tyranny, from oppressionfrom the nightmare of endlessfear, from hunger, from faithdenied, from the bottomlessdepths of poverty, scarredmemories etched in their souls,hoping for an ending as muchas wishing for a new beginning.They have been here, a newgeneration, raised on the stories,versed in the painful history,still residual anger bornof love for…
-
HERE-ISH, NOW-ISH
In this moment we, the two of us,are here in this precise placeand there are an infinite numberof places we might be.But we want to be here,just here, nowhere else.We are aging, but in this momentwe are exactly the right ageand to be younger or olderwould do nothing for us.When I curl against youas the…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 