Innocence

November 25, 2020

GRANDCHILD

You more easily remember
the birth of a grandchild
than his or her parent

whether from a memory
sharpened by age
or regular sleep

or by a vision
more acute for knowing
what to look for,

or simply a clinging
tightly to any symbol
of youth denied you.

It may be as well
that grandchildren see
you differently than parents

a hope for a long life
and the possibility of
one day being old

or someone whose mind
more closely resembles
in innocence and simplicity

or simply as adults
whose rules can be ignored
with no real consequence.

October 3, 2020

AROMA

What I want, no, need actually,
is to remember the smells of youth.
The images I can recall, but they are
aged pictures, run repeatedly through
the Photoshop of memory, and
cannot be trusted only desired.

The old, half ready to fall oak,
in the Salt Lake City park had
a faint pungency that lingered
even as I departed my body as
the acid kicked in, and drew me
back from the abyss hours later,

and my then wife, cradling our
first born in the hospital bed,
the scent of innocence and sterility
that neither of us dared recognize
as a foretelling of our denouement.

Those moments are lost in the sea
of time, washed away from memory’s
shore, but the smell of a summer oak
still promises a gentle return to self.

November 12, 2017

MAGIC, ONCE

As a child he had a magical power.
He didn’t like to use it, didn’t want others
to know he had it, certainly couldn’t share it.
He wasn’t certain when it began to fade,
but he noticed the power diminished as he grew,
as he learned more about the world,
and there was absolutely nothing he could do
to stop or even slow its diminution.
He knew he would miss it, knew he
would always remember it even when
there was no longer a trace of it.
He stopped thinking about it as life
engulfed him in its ever-present moments.
Every once in a while he would pause
and remember it with fondness for
innocence is not something you lose willingly.

May 27, 2016

AGELESS

He is still three, but he is not
easily convinced of that fact.
He says he is four, although
with that certain smirk and a wink
he admits his birthday is next week.
He says he is practicing being four
and it doesn’t seem all that hard.
He says he has gotten so good at it
that next year he is thinking
of turning twenty-seven.
His father smiles at this, imagining
all the teenage years of angst
bypassed in a single night.

April 15, 2016

TALMUD

She asks the Rabbi what God looks like, and he has to admit he doesn’t know. She doesn’t know either, but she’s only three so she isn’t expected to know. She tells the Rabbi that he should find out. The Rabbi doesn’t tell her he is no longer certain where to look for God. She knows that beyond the clouds and behind the stars, at the very edge of the universe, that’s where God must be. Her daddy said there was a restaurant there. She doesn’t ask if it is Chinese or Indian. She thinks God’s favorite food is chickpeas. She is sure God also likes pineapple. She is going to have a baby brother soon. She wonders how soon he will talk and listen to her, because she has so much to teach him. She doesn’t know if God is a boy or a girl. She wanted to ask the Rabbi, but he didn’t know what God looks like. She wants to meet God one day, she thinks. It will probably be in an Indian restaurant. She is sure God likes the buffet. Especially the chickpeas.