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REFLECTIONS ON A FATHER NEVER KNOWN
The sun is obscured by half-lidded eyes. We are standing together on a small beach. Twenty toes are curled in the wave packed sand. We are in Cascais, or perhaps Estoril. The waves spread their foam capped fingers through the rocks and cradle us. He wants to drive down the coast, to see the boats…
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DREAMING MAUI
I found it on a map this morning. I had been there once before but wasn’t looking, so I missed it I suppose. It is a place where poetry is born, where it wells up out of the earth, seeping across the landscape, casting an enticing light. It is a magical place to which few…
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THE MESA, MIDNIGHT
The coyotes come down from the Sandia Hills onto the mesa. They are not spirits. They are not totems. They are not tricksters. They are hungry: for a jackrabbit, for a bird, for a small dog wandering too far from a half-lit earthship. They smell the sage, its faint odor carried on the night breeze. …
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TAKING FLIGHT
A man ran down the street this morning, flapping his arms. It wasn’t clear if he was running for exercise, moving his arms in the bitter cold, or actually thinking they were wings and with enough motion he might take off. There is also the possibility that he was simply crazy and a look at…
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UNBEGUN STORY
There was supposed to be a cat in this story, one being chased by a dog. It could have been a fox, I suppose but they are not seen here that much anymore. It might well have been a crow chased by a hawk, that happens around here with fair regularity but writing about the sky is…
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USER INTERFACE
U: Cope I: How? U: Relax I: Can’t U: Why not? I: No time U: Make time I: Takes too long U: Better idea? I: None! U: Tried? I: Can’t U: Why not? I: No time U: What then? I: No idea U: Can’t help I: Why not? U: Tried I: How? U: …
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TIME
He stopped believing in time. It served no purpose for him, other than allowing others to chastise him for being late. He knew he operated under the laws of gravity, it was a burden he accepted, if begrudgingly. He understood his limitations, tested their margins, but allowed that he had finite power over them. But…
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TRIPTYCH
A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…
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BUENOS AIRES ON THE GENESEE
If this were Buenos Aires, if I were Borges, it would all make a great deal of sense. A man, older, and older still if you look closely, walks into an elegant hotel bar. A jazz quintet is playing, straight up, trumpet, piano, guitar, stand up bass, drum kit. The older man is wearing white…
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PIANO LESSONS
Mrs. Schwarting was my piano teacher. At 12, my parents gave me a choice of lessons: piano or dance. I had two left feet. I chose piano. It did not move. My mother smiled at my choice. She knew what my decision would be before she asked. My mother was like that. Mrs. Schwarting was…
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an old writer and his words 