Portland
When it’s hard to stand up, sometimes the asphalt can help. I found that my town was there to support me in some wet, green, slippery, nice sort-of way. It’s a sweet town
Portland
When I fell from marriage, home,
bland feats of life-as-I’d-known-it,
coupled-into some twenty-plus years ago,
suddenly everything was a question again.
What is? What isn’t?
All my assumptions broke into pieces:
sharp; slithery; and none-too-shiny.
Portland spoke through my ticklish in-step.
She pressed into the soles of my feet with
rose-and-tumble acceptance,
as I skirted puddles known and unknown.
Restless possiblity swayed along my sides
while Portland steadied my stride—“It’s ok.”
Who knew that asphalt could be a tender touch,
that this patient, old-friend town of mine
would roll out padding and take me easy,
while the stuffing in my head blew ‘round
many cups of coffee: many thanks, Portland.
Alone
In Big Words I’m looking at words that seem to expand as we get older and find more ways to think about things. Being Alone builds certain strengths and misses others.
A View from the Stutthof
Every time I confront some aspect of the Holocaust, or Shoah, some part of me understands more, and most of me understands less. It waits there for me to wrestle.
Mortality Smacks
One week it seemed like everyone I talked to told me about someone who had too close a call with mortality.