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LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO
It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…
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A LOST PEN
I wrote a poem for my father,about how one afternoonthe oddly green ’57 Caddyappeared in the drivewayand he polished its chrome for hours,even waxed the black bumper bullets.It was the love of his lifehe said, except for his wife,he added after a moment.The years would provethat addition was most likely false.I could send him the…
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FORMAL PROOF
First Proposition: You were put upfor adoption because your birthparents couldn’t or didn’t want to raise you. Second Proposition: We or I adopted youbecause I wanted you and not anotherand to give you the good life you deserved. Argument: Given all of the possiblealternatives, you ought to be thankfulthat we saved you from that other…
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SOMETHING NEW
When I was a child, my motherrepeatedly told me that I mustlearn something new each day. I knew better than to point outthat it was absurd to callfor novel behavior by repetition. So I took the path of least resistanceand each day grabbed a randomvolume of the World Book Encyclopedia, opened to any page and…
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OUT OF THE NURSERY
The one question that has never hada proper answer still bothers me.Actually it gives rise to multiple questionswhich synergistically expand my displeasure. I get she had a lamb, and I don’t questionwhy, nor why hers was little, full size lambsare far more common, and seriouslywhat did she do, bleach it every few days? But those…
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CALENDAR
As a child I lived next door to a calendar,but not the kind mother always hungon the wall next to the refrigerator, two,one for school events and the obligationsattendant on parenthood and the otherfor holidays, and adult social events,the important one she’d say whenshe thought we couldn’t hear.My calendar was Mrs. Kanutsu,the woman next door,…
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ROCK AND HARD PLACE
The hardest age by faris the one where you are stuckin the middle, children below,parents above, and utterly nohope of escape from the vise.Things your mother could do effortlesslynow seem impossible for her, and thosethings now need doing immediately.Your children, ever wise at creatingnovel approaches to anything they wantin life regardless of your opinion,suddenly cannot…
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TIDAL SHIFTS
It’s difficult enough, Mom, that Inever got to meet you, to see your facesave in a college yearbook, to haveonly a few relatives acknowledgemy existence despite the DNA testthat clearly links us, one to the other.What makes it more difficult istrying to figure out my heritage,my geographic roots before our familyarrived in West Virginia, backin…
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MITOCHONDRIAL
I always imagined it would somehowbe romantic, not in the Hollywood sort of way,but in an idyllic, picturesque manner,even if that denied basic reality.Reality, when it comes to origins discoveredis overrated, for the normal percolation timeis denied, and the impact is suddenwith no restraints to temper the blow.Way back when, you learned by storiestold by…
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CALLER
It’s Sunday, so I know, before long I will have the nagging thought that I should call my mother. I’ve had this thought for years, once acted upon it with regularity, listened patiently for her weekly list of things I needed to help her with, since I never visited to do the work with her…
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an old writer and his words 