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MONA
Of course, she’s sitting there,calmly, staring off onto space.She has to know somethingis amiss, no one has cometo visit her in days, but sheknows that whenever, if ever,whatever it is that is happeningis finally over, that theywill once again return, stareat her, wonder aloud and silentlywhy she is smiling, and shewill as always say nothing,…
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TOO WAY BACK MACHINE
Platform shoes, velourNehru jackets, what the hellwere we thinking, and pinkvelour, seriously, for men. At least it was Hendrix, Byrds,and not Pat Boone and AndyWilliams, almost the deathof music as we know it. Reefers were evil, told us so,and when we figured out it waspot, we begged to differ, frequentlybetween hits on the bong, after…
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FINITE LOOP
As it turns out, lifeis an ongoing process of accretionand deconstruction, of growthand eventual shrinkage. I started with 20 teethI am told, and got to 32,only to fall back to 23thanks to orthodontia and wear. We start with 270 or morebones, but we knit that numberdown to 206, or in my case under200, the orthopaedist’s…
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GRANDCHILD
You more easily rememberthe birth of a grandchildthan his or her parent whether from a memorysharpened by ageor regular sleep or by a visionmore acute for knowingwhat to look for, or simply a clingingtightly to any symbolof youth denied you. It may be as wellthat grandchildren seeyou differently than parents a hope for a long…
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TREPIDATION
I approach it slowly, overcomeby fear and desire, warned to stepcarefully over the uneven earththat on this hillside haven set behindthe rusting wrought iron fence , itsmaster lock dangling askew, peersout through the trees to the Kanawha riverflowing unknowingly through the valley. The stone is set in line with the others,neatly incised, a name, Englishand…
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NAMASTE
There was a time, still withinmemory’s ever more tenuous graspthat I imagined myself, at this age,as a monk in a Buddhist templein Kyoto, that I had assumed a silenceimposed by lack of language, not faith. I am certain that the Japaneseare pleased that I let that dreampass unfulfilled, that I confinemy practice to that American…
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LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO
It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…
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RETIREMENT
He would arrive as I was still strugglingto convince the dog that he didn’t needto drag me around the neighborhood,that he knew the backyard well enough. I’d lose the argument in the end, thatwas a given, but he’d concede meenough time to wolf down breakfast,and I’d hear the small door in the wallopen and then…
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A LOST PEN
I wrote a poem for my father,about how one afternoonthe oddly green ’57 Caddyappeared in the drivewayand he polished its chrome for hours,even waxed the black bumper bullets.It was the love of his lifehe said, except for his wife,he added after a moment.The years would provethat addition was most likely false.I could send him the…
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ETD
As a child, I could neverunderstand why, when I knewthat it ws time to go, my parentswere never ready, always neededone or two more things; and whyen route, we were never quite thereeven though I had waited the tenminutes more they said it would take. But I had nothing on my beloveddog Mindy, who would…
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an old writer and his words 