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RENTAL
The mountain reachesup grasping clouds.The river no longer runsred down its flanksnow traversedby a black ribbontwisting upward.The Hertz rentalhas a warningtaped on the glove boxdriving above 5,000 feetis prohibited, andat the driver’s risk.The Minolta sitsin the trunkas I denythe siren’s call. FirstAppeared in Raconteur, Issue 3, January 1996.
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CITY OF (TRAFFIC) LIGHTS
It is incredibly sadwhen all you have seenis Paris from a taxi hurtling towardthe center of the city, becauseyou are late for a meeting, and thenyour view out of the conference roomwindow is another glass buildingwhich, if you lean your headfar enough right gives youthe reflection of the Eiffel Tower. As the meeting drags onyou…
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CEILI
He liked nothing more than slipping out the back of the Ritz Carlton and heading down Nonhyeon-ro, more alley than street, past the small bulgogi restaurant, and winding his way to Gangnam-daero 106, finally arriving on the great avenue, Gangnam-daero. It was buzzing with life at all hours, but in the early evening the Virgin…
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A RETURN SOMEDAY
Some day I need to returnto Tokyo and walk its streetslistening for the soundtrackthat Haruki Murakami requiresof the city, bebop jazzin Shinjuku, classical whenwandering Asakusa and Senso-ji,and rock on the streets of Shibuya. I have often been there, butmy soundtrack was thatof horns and the clatterof a pachinko parlor, orthe pitched giggles of younggirls walking…
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SEOUL
The Han river, gray to greenhinting at mud, but roiledthis day, is a keloid scaracross the torso of Seoul,its suture bridges strugglingto hold the halves together. Soon it will be dark, the Hanthen a no-man’s land, separatingthe two Seouls, each certainit is its own whole, neitherlooking north to an alwaysforeboding step-sibling.
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WANDERING NO MORE
In my dreams I wanderedthe alleys of Lisbon searchingfor a familiar face, and manycame close, but no man stopped meand asked if I was, by chancehis son, for he dreamed Iwas what a son of hiswould look like. Now I have no need to wanderfor I know he is ina military cemeteryin Burlington, New Jersey,and…
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ONE DAY
We stood trapped betweenslack-jawed and reverentlooking at the woman sittingcross-legged outside the doorwaylovingly fashioning a pot,her gnarled fingers gentleon the yielding clay. Others this day fashionedrings and pendantssimple tools on silverand one of a kind treasuresthey would lay outon blankets hoping wewould want morethan just a photograph. Our day on the Taos Puebloended too early,…
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ON THE MESA
On the mesa you can step outsideand look up at the sky,clouds building mountainsthat threaten to eat the sun,swallow the moon whole. On the mesa you can step outsideand feel incredibly small,listen to the coyotes withthe ears of scared children,unable to run like the jackrabbit. On the mesa you can step outsideand look up at…
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FALLING
I fell deeply in love with herstanding in a small jeweler’s shopin Bangor, Wales on a November morning.In truth, cradling a small silverCeltic cross in my handsI knew then that Itaken that plungewithin moments of our meetingand recognition of itwas all that remained.
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LINKAGE
Linking things is a human need,tenuous forces barely holdingacross synapses easily brokenor lost, never to be replaced. Ithaca is forever joined withGalway City, and I still have notfigured out how to get the twopeople together as together isobviously what they should be. She sits at a small tablein the Commons, staring, waitingperhaps for a writer…
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an old writer and his words 