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BENEDICTION
This is the benedictionI was never given the opportunityto offer, the blessing of a childfor his parents, those who are woveninto his genes, those that cannotbe denied, those without whomthere could be no thought of benediction.I bless the mother who carried meand handed me to the adoption agencyfearing she could not offer methe life she…
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ANNIVERSARY
She reminds me that thisis the anniversaryof my father’s death,and this time I donot pause to wonderwhich one of the threeI have had, but neitherof us knows howmany years it has beensince he died, sinceI got the text frommy once brotherannouncing the death.And neither of usknows where, or if,he is buried.But since my brotherhas told…
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MULTIPLICATION
If he thought about it at allhe probably thought himself akinto Johnny Appleseed, casting his seedand being fruitful in every sense,but some might say he was moreAttila, a Hun pillaging where he couldthen moving on, his prizes claimedthe emotional wrappings discarded.Of course we can never know whichfor some secrets unless exposeddo follow you to the…
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FATHERING
There is a certain cruelty in knowingwhere my birth father is buried, a pictureof his headstone in the National Cemetery,his face as I know it cropped from a group photoof his unit while stationed in New Hampshire.The cruelty is not in that fact, or that I havea picture of the grave of my first adoptivefather…
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THE OLD MAN
My father was the old mancurled in the hospital bed,his mind and memoriesseeping into the sheetsuntil only the husk remainedand I knew that it, too,would soon be reduced to ash.In my dream I wasthe old man in that bedbut I knew it was not mefor I clearly rememberedmy fading father wellwhile he, in those days,remembered…
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ON LEARNING PAINFULLY
I cannot begin to tell youhow glad I am that I neverfollowed through on the ideaof flying to Lisbon and searchingfor you or some record of you.After all, she told the adoptionagency when she gave me upthat you were a Portuguese Jewshe met in Washington, D.C.so the odds were good you couldbe found in the…
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SLAINTE
Ireland should have felt alien,but it never did during our visit,nor had Scotland years earlier.And it wasn’t that I loved Scotchand Irish Whiskey and Guinnessalthough I did all of those, andtraditional Celtic music to boot.What I didn’t know then, whatI wouldn’t learn for a decadewas that my taste for thingsIrish and Scottish was woven,twisted into…
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REMEMBERING CHILDHOOD
There isn’t much to write about,not much recalled, now brief glimpseslike aged photographs, black and whiteor color but so time faded they bleednow into sepia, fragments, his face herehers never appearing as if she, not satisfiedwith how she looked, purged my memory.It may be a factor of age, but there areother contemporaneous moments stillin clear…