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OH, UNSWEET ROSE
There are days when nothing less than a full blown cliche will suffice, and any attempt at brevity will result in an utter and total failure and wit will mourn it soul. You might as well spit in the wind, because you simply cannot swim against that tide, and it and time will never wait…
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GENETIC DREAMS
The hardest part, surprisingly, is finding that one odd thread where you least expected, and following it back until it merges with another, and another still until you recognize that it is a weft, and the warp slowly becomes more apparent. Still it is nothing but carefully interwoven threads until you allow yourself to step…
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PACIFYING THE MIND OF THE SECOND PATRIARCH
Sitting on the cushion staring at the wall yet again, the wall seems familiar, as if you should know it, the paint, the fleck of something embedded in the paint. Still you search for something beyond the wall, hidden by the paint, but you find nothing, always nothing. Does this nothing finding frustrate you? Are…
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MOURNING ASCENDANT
When they lowered my grandmother’s casket into the sodden earth, there wasn’t a dry eye or shoulder, or leg around. Sophie would have gotten a good laugh, her children always too busy for a visit getting soaked to the skin, in a cold, windy downpour, all but me, the one she chose to conduct the…
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PLACES
My mother, the goddess of cliches, was overly fond of repeating that “There’s a place for everything, and everything should be in its place.” I must admit that, in addition to hating her cliches and platitudes, I grew ever less certain of my place in her world. She was more than willing to assume my…
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A SIMPLE QUESTION
A woman walks up to me and asks, “can you juggle the salt and pepper shakers?” but I know what she really wants is for me to bind her wounds and drag the sun quickly from the horizon. I pick up two apples and a plum but the plum falls to the floor and rolls…
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CONTEMPLATING
She stands on the bridge and stares down into the slowly flowing river. She wonders what it might feel like to climb the railing and pushing off, gain flight. The river would welcome her, enfold her, carry her to its heart. She will not leap this day just as she did not the day before,…
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HUI CH’AO ASKS ABOUT BUDDHA
When you look in the mirror do you hope to see yourself, and who is that face that stares back? If you turn out the light, are you still there in the mirror, or has the illusion of you disappeared? If you crack the mirror, do you feel the pain of the scar across your…
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THIRD EYE, NEEDING GLASSES
You ask me what is the first thing I can remember, and seem surprised when I tell you memory is much like a Buddhist river, never the same twice. Memory is a stage and I am one to forget my lines, today it’s the window in the back of a Miami Beach bus amazed at…
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HARMONY
A young woman steps from the shower and wraps herself in a large blue towel. “I don’t want you to see me,” she says, to the young man standing in the door of the small bathroom, “look away for now.” He reminds her they are married. She says, “One thing has nothing to do with…
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an old writer and his words 