In Vain
I’m lying in the ditch, bleeding. My son has died. I can’t move, can’t climb. I will never be the same. I will never be the same. I hear you above me on…
Chicken Men
My father has always preferred menthol cigarettes, from his first preteen puff on a Kool to the cherry he smoldered atop his Camel this morning. When I was a kid,…
last day
It’s not just that feeling of escaping something that opens up your chest, or the closure that lends rhythm to seasons of life: after spring, the long slow breath.…
Marigold
Mornings in Uganda are first the color of periwinkles, then roses, then suddenly a shot of brightest marigold. I watch it from my doorstep, listening. The caws of…
Growing Up Polack
My dad spent 4 ½ years in Buchenwald concentration camp in Nazi Germany. My mother spent 2 ½ years as a slave laborer in various camps there. When the war ended,…