Posted in Rituals


Swept aside by social media
rendered redundant by Facebook
yesterday’s news by twitter
passé by Instagram
no surprises by snapchat.
It was the very last allegiance to childhood
taking your beau or beauess to uncles and aunts.

Introduction unfolded with a certain pace and ritual
a telephone call
an inquiry as to general health
of offspring’s health and career chartings
praising and sighing
tut tuting in accord as necessary or expected.
an invitation to self and one other
“ there is someone I would like you to meet ”
no other information necessary,
the ancient ones knowing and curious.

High tea
how to dress? For cold and chill.

I was at home when they called –
visiting from the other end of the country
the ceremony allows for contingency,
I am included.

Coffee or tea and cake,
small talk and goodwill
the rules allow for how and where
“ known each other long?” ask my mother.
“ Oh yeah, quite a while,” says the nephew
YES, affirms his soon-to-be fiancée, 19 days.




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.