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RECALL
As you sit in your suburban homes,by the pools at your country clubs,in your vacation resort villas, tryfor the sake of the patriarchsand matriarchs of our faith, to rememberthat we were the poor, we werethe huddled masses, we yearnedto breathe free, we the tempest tossed. Remember the tenementsof the Lower East Side,the sweat shops, the…
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MARCH ON
We marched regularly, often carring placards,this week against an insane warin a place we had no busines being,next week for the racial justicepromised for a century but never delivered,and then for the ecology, trying to savethe world that our parents promisedfor us as little children and failedto provide, choking through the smogand the teargas, scraping…
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LINES
We love drawing lines and borders. There are few things we do better than that. But increasingly we have lost our once finely honed skill at placing them where they ought to be. I won’t even get into walls on borders to keep out families, those like our families were once. I mean small lines…
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PROGRESS?
It is progressing, but thatshould not come as a surprise to you,for they told you it would happenand you accepted that as a fact. It is the speed at which it has progressed,much faster than you imagined,what was once clear, now vagueever more amorphous, half alreadyeffectively gone, and the other half? I imagine what would…
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HUP TWO, MY ASS
WARNING: A SHORT STORY, SO A LONGER READ THAN USUAL. BUT WORTH IT HOPEFULLY He wondered why he allowed himself to be in this position. Heknew that he didn’t actually allow it, he courted it. But you couldclaim allowance when you chose the lesser, by far, of two evils.As a child, his mother always told…
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FRIENDS
We will always be friends, we said,probably half meaning it at the time.How many times have we said thator somthing akin to it, knowingthat the promise to call, to stayin close touch, was at besthalf meant and almost certainnot to come to any reality. I have a catalog of friends, whoI told I would never…
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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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PICTURE THIS
Words failed him again. They did so ever more often it seemed, but it was possible it was merely that he was trying to express ever more complex ideas ideas in terms others would comprehend. A picture might not be worth a thousand words, but if you had that many, odds are some would be…
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DIFFERENT TODAY
The air we breathe is different today,and we inhale more deeplywith the energy of our youth. The tears we cry today are notsolely tears of loss and sorrow,but also of promise and hope. The wine that we drink todaywill be the same as before, butnow sweeter on the tongue. The sleep that we sleep tonightwill…
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JANUARY
It is an odd feeling, in the middleof January, to no longer considerbecoming a bear, choosingto hibernate until Spring arrivesdemanding an awakening. I did that for years, nevergrew the heavy fur coat neededand wasn’t much for digging densin the snow, so I sat insideand dreamed of bearishness. Living now among the birdswhere we shiver when…
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an old writer and his words 