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SEASIDE
The ocean wind sweeps through the citya sudden rain washes sidewalk, shop, and street,carries both dreams and sins back to the sea. For the young child time slides by easily,life a campaign that allows no retreat.The ocean wind sweeps through the city, rattles church windows, so that all can seethe priest stripped of dogma. Christ…
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RETURN
He arrived todayalthough none saw him coming.He had been here before,been quickly ignored,despite his pleas and prayers,they twisted his wordsto suit their venal desires,his message forever lost in translation.They were not ready,and in their hate fueled world,they might never be.
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THE SAINT OF UNCOUNTED NAMES
A desert again,always a desertand she the saintof uncounted names,her crying eases, nosmile appears for thisMadonna of the coyotes,her orange-orbed eyesshuttered against theslowly retreating sun.Once her tears wateredthe desert sands, mixedwith the blood of a Christnow long forgotten, trans-substantiated into a spiritwe formed in our image,no longer we in his.The Blessed Motherwatches, holding hope,holding space,…
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OH, HELL
You say that I am an apostate,hell bent, hell bound, soon to meetthe hell hound awaiting my arrival. You have condemned me for thoughtsthat deviate from your own, youare the guardians of the Word, you say, although whose words you guard is everharder and harder to discern, certainlynot those of He who died for saying…
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COMING BACK
He appears, rising from the horizonthe sun at his back, as if a miragetaking physical shape and form. He approaches slowly, your eyesstraining to separate himfrom the sun’s growing glow. You wonder if his is a holy manrobed and with a staff, walkingto announce his long awaited return. As he grows closer, you realizehe is…
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AFTERLIFE
In the farthest reachesof the afterlife, the old mengather each day, althoughday and night are meaninglessto them, just assignedfor purposes of the writer. The Buddha recites sutrashoping the others willbe in the moment with him,while Hillel smiles, standson one foot and dreamsof a lean pastrami on ryewith a slice of half sour. Christ muses on…
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NOT YET
The man walked into the old dinerlooking not at all happy,dressed in what looked likea white robe he found in some alley. He ordered coffee and glancedaround, as if seeking onefamiliar face, finding manythat looked like that of his father, like him,for that matter, and he knewfrom this quick glance thatthey were not yet ready,…
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CHRISTMAS
It isn’t my first Christmasalthough almost so, thatpart of me hidden for halfa century, its twisted discoveryfilling a hole that I neverknew existed, yet always knew. This is the strangest Christmas,a time of gathering, nowin isolation, only pixelsand prayers on a too flat screen,and it is hard, in timesof want and suffering, to recallwhy we…
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THE HALF TRUTH
As a Jewish kid in a small cityI suppose I had it pretty good, enoughof us that I didn’t totally stand out,and it helped living a single blockfrom the Jewish funeral home, somejust didn’t want to travel all that farwhen the inevitable time came. But we soon moved to the suburbs,the shtetl neighborhood was gone,and…
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NO BIALYS TODAY
No one looked up when the Buddhawalked into the deli and took a seatat the counter, “Pastrami on rye, andlean, with mustard on the side, and twoslices of full dill and a side of slaw.” As he sipped the Dr. Brown’s CreamSoda, the waitress smiled at him,asked, “Are those robes comfortable,winter isn’t all that far…
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an old writer and his words 