Mother, You Need Shoes

Art by Rob Goldstein

Mother, You Need Shoes

I would not have noticed her if our car had not cleared of people at Lexington Avenue.

She wore a tattered stocking cap.

She removed it and stuffed it into her jacket.

She held a grimy white bag between her legs.

She reached into it and pulled out half of a doughnut.

That was when I noticed her shoes.

The uppers had split from the soles; her feet were wrapped in newspaper and rags.

I thought, Mother, you need shoes.

I looked up and watched her untangle a lock of matted grey hair.

She reached into her bag and found bobby pins.

She styled the loosened lock of hair into a bun.

I wondered is forty dollars would do.

I had forty dollars.

It was for vitamins; specifically: anti-oxidants.

My body is rusting faster than a wet Ford.

The crows feet around my eyes whispered: erase us, your…

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I’ll Be Seeing You

Art by Rob Goldstein

At Harvey Milk Plaza Harvey Milk and his Partner Scott Smith in a photo at Harvey Milk Plaza


Kit was a bit of a twit before he got sick, but he was brilliant and passionate about gay liberation.

Our friendship was based on mutual geekiness.

Kit tinkered with a Mac or a Tandy while I wrote poetry and listened to Pattie Smith through my headphones.

It was the third year of the AIDS epidemic.

We sat over coffee at the Cafe Flore on a bright Mediterranean day in San Francisco.

Kit opened his backpack and pulled out a small computer.

It looked like a large calculator.

Kit said that HIV was not infecting all gay men.

He suspected that HIV was sexually transmitted, but at that time no one was certain.

We both knew many men who had died and even more who were sick.

Kit wanted to know what they had in common.

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Sunsets and Memories

Sunsets, like childhood, are viewed with wonder not just because they are beautiful but because they are fleeting.” ― Richard Paul Evans, The Gift

Sunsets and memories

Sunsets, like empires and memories of love long ago, fade slow; first brilliant, then warm, and finally passing to silk brocade on black velvet.  How much more beautiful they are in memory when the busy moments of planning and passing through life have stilled. Continue reading “Sunsets and Memories”

The End of War

This is a repost of a chapter from one of my short stories.  It wasn’t very popular as far as likes, comments or views. It seems counter intuitive to beat that old dead horse again here.  I replay it because much is said about post traumatic stress disorder in service members but it’s not well understood by the public.  It can manifest years after the event as the memories suddenly drift in like a cold breeze through a forgotten open door.  Internal dialog of scenes long forgotten play out when and wherever they will – triggered by a thought, sound, a vision, a taste or smell. Continue reading “The End of War”

A Walk With Eternity

“We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.” ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

The Journey

 

I promised myself long ago that my life would be a walk with eternity.  I didn’t pray to be spared sickness, heartache or any dark moment life can bring.  When those dark moments found me, I never prayed for the light, a cure, a way around.  I prayed for strength to carry on.   Continue reading “A Walk With Eternity”

Of Joy and Shame

“Watch out for each other. Love everyone and forgive everyone, including yourself. Forgive your anger. Forgive your guilt. Your shame. Your sadness. Embrace and open up your love, your joy, your truth, and most especially your heart.” ― Jim Henson

Joy and Shame

 

Joy and Shame

The voice of Joy and Shame,

Forever call my name.

I hear their pleading day and night,

Step from the shadows into the light.

Come to me, the voice calls;

One rises, the other falls.

The touch of Joy, a fleeting game,

The rival player, a crying Shame.

I love them both, I cannot choose;

Side-by-side, they play my Muse;

At the end, I turn away,

They’ll be back another day.

Neither hopes to ever win;

But, they  know; I’ll play again. Continue reading “Of Joy and Shame”