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OF THE CHILD
How many times have weheard someone intonethe never ending expression:“in the best interests of the child.” Never, I imagine, has anyoneasked the child what he or shethought was in their best interest,for children, we assume, cannotknow what is in their interest. A child would gladly tell youbut an adult would often disagree,anchored to the memoryof…
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HOME
I have never beento Liszkowo but I have beento Charleston, West Virginiaand visited the B’nai Jacob Cemeteryand for me, that is as closeas I need to come to Liszkowofor I don’t speak Lithuanianthough it runs through my veins.I have visited the Highlandsand the Isle of Islaybut I never saw myfather’s kin reach out to me,although…
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LUNA’S SONG
Tonight, when the sunhas finally conceded the dayto its distant but ever larger kin,the moon will again singher ever waning songhoping we will joinin a chorus we haveso long forgotten,bound to the earthin body and in waxing thought. We will stop and listenperhaps, over the dinof the city, the traffic,the animals conversingwith the sky, our…
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CITY OF DREAMS
I live in city thatisn’t a city at all,despite what it callsitself. It is a suburbof suburbs, whichin Florida can passfor a city. The birds ignorethe gates and wallsand come and gofreely. We live insidethe gates and wallsand remember livingin a real city.
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NAMENCLATURE
I have goneby many names,some chosen,some inherited,some thrown at mein anger,in scorn,in friendship. Names addnothing to whoI am, whoI choose to be,who I am seento be by the thosewho throw aroundnames as ifthey were magicalincantations, elixirswith great powerthat fallat my feetlike shatteredicicles of mynot caring.
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LAMBERT FIELD
The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…
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DEEP
Deep beneath the Arctic icethe whale songs shimmerin the harsh lightof a frozen sun.We strive to hear them,hear nothing, hear onlyour thoughts echoingthrough cavernous memories.With thoughts of what was,what we wish had been,we are ambient noisein a universe whichcradles hope, craves silence.Dolphins dream of dayswhen the sea was theirs,lives lived in a slow paradisea world…
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TREASURES
I keep in my pocketall the treasures of my family,all of the keepsakes from my mother,and those from my fathergiven to me when they died. I would share them with you,but they are highly personaland would not mean much to onewho never knew my parentsor my step brother, the one with whom I have not…
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RETIRED
God sits at his easel, brush in handand thinks about the butterflyalighting on the oak.This man would rather paintthe nightmare of hell, buthe has been cast out andhis memory has grown dim.He remembers being a small childamused by the worm peeringfrom soil in a fresh rain and howwhen he split it, both halveswould slither awayin…
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ASHES TO ASHES
He says he wants to knowwhat I want done with my ashesknowing I want to be cremated. I tell him I need to thinkabout that for a while, knowingthat “while” could be an evershortening lifespan, but Idare not tell him that, itsimply wouldn’t be acceptablehe would respond, setting offanother endless discussion. I don’t say that…
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an old writer and his words 