Posted in Truth


Although authoritarian,
my parents were nervous of authority
or rather, authorities.
practitioner of medicine,
school principal
rendered their absolute, obeisant
replaced stern, with meek.

“Yes Fr.
Of course Dr.
Our thoughts exactly Mr/Mrs/Miss …. .”

When the water right was disputed
I said I would go with them
to the lawyer
and then the hearings.

After court, and the ruling
they wanted to show their appreciation
a bottle of wine,
or a CD
would have annulled any debt
but was considered cheap.
An expensive restaurant was ordered
the food was good
very good
but left an aftertaste
salt sadness
the sharp tang of proof,
of genetics, known and unknowing.
I’d have preferred fries and beer at the beach
or pizza and Chianti in the park – they had no idea.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.