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THE SON SETS
My adoptive mother said:I chose you from all the others.My adoptive mother meant:when the wheel of fortunestop spinning the arrowpointed you and that was that. My “brother,” biological sonof my adoptive parents said:we have always thought of youjust like a brother.My “brother” meant:we were stuck with youthough you weren’t even half to us. When my…
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CHEMICAL REACTION
Korean and Basque are orphan languagesalthough linguists prefer the termlanguage isolates, which soundsalmost chemical, as though somereaction resulted in a linguisticsediment, or distillate perhaps. If that is the proper term Isuppose I was a human isolate,which actually makes some sense,even after adoption, for I wouldlearn years later from mystep brother that I wasisolated from the…
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FAMILY
You ask me to define what family isand I tell you that I may bethe last person you wantanswering that question, Ian adoptee who felt likean orphan supplantedby siblings who knew her womb. But I do have an answer,family is that insane personwho will drive six hoursto spend an hour with you,family is the joy…
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AN ORPHAN
I knew you’d show up in my dream,it was a matter of time and faith,or perhaps just playing the averages,sooner or later became sooner, that’s all. You had nothing to say, but that, toowas to be expected, for I have neverheard your voice, and imagine it akinto the voice of the GPS or perhaps Siri.…
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A CHILDHOOD
I have fond memories of a childhood I never lived. Those are the best childhoods from for they reflect life as you meant it to be lived. In this life my father is in his late nineties, still smiles when he sees me, not didn’t clutch his chest sixty-one years ago, didn’t fall to the…
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SLIP SLIDING AWAY
Merriam-Webster declared me an orphan yesterday morning, when my father slipped away from his morphine dreams. Some would argue I cannot be an orphan at my age, that is a sanctuary reserved for children, but I am long past admitting my age, and my behavior gives no lie to my claim of childhood. I will…
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IS THAT SO 沙石集 三
If you find an orphan do you take him as your own. Do you feed and shelter him and offer him your name. Does he sit at your side in silent meditation. Do you willingly accept the scorn of your neighbors for your bastard child? If his mother later comes, will you part with him…
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ORPHAN
I was a foundling wandering from Guinness Stout to Ouzo and back, in search of identity. In Schul I would cry out to Him asking, “Who am I?” and He would answer, “you are, you are.” The balalaika of my mother’s grandfather sounded tinny, a cacophony lost in Oporto, Lisboa. On the streets of Vienna…
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an old writer and his words 