Bittersweetly . . .

I am beside myself with pride and joy as I announce a new publication. My short story, "Zar," has found itself a home in the Fall 2011 edition of Yellow Medicine Review: A Journal of Indigenous Literature, Art, and Thought. Set in Cairo, Egypt, "Zar" is a story of culture, ritual, superstition, and faith. It is a story of the persistence and resilience of the human psyche in its unwavering pursuit of Light and Truth.

I really wanted for "Zar" to be published in the proper niche, and after searching long and hard for an appropriate publication, I found YMR to be just the right journal. As luck would have it, the editors of YMR felt my story was right for them, too. How about that for happy endings!

The beautiful Fall 2011 paperback edition of Yellow Medicine Review is available for purchase from Amazon. I highly recommend it. This magnificent bouquet of ethnically flavored and skillfully written stories and poems from the four corners of the globe has something to satisfy every literary palate. Enjoy . . . 

Three for Self

Comets & Meteor Showers, Unknown Photographer

At dusk,

a prayer…

let me go on forever

like earth and sky,

a calm and endless breath

of dust and air.

let me glow

like an untouchable element,

brave, and strong,

and filled with force.

At night,

a vision…

in sleep, i turn,

and my eyes open

to find the stars awakened,

glowing, brilliant and silent,

stalking my eternity,

leaving me mottled

with silver pinpricks

where their tips met my flesh.

At dawn,

a spell…

in this hour,

in this sanctuary,

when the brightening air

is as silent as stars at midnight,

i am a tree,

i am a branch,

i am a hundred thousand

leaves of green and gold.

The Palms, My Palms

Photo, unknown artist

On a cool October morning, I lie,

Woodplank back upon the floor,

And here...

My face hides

Beneath my folded arms,

Awkward branches staving off

The epiphany of light.

Too much light, I tell myself,

As if there were such a thing.

It has taken me this long

To get from there to here,

This

Being a measure of My Time,

A certain pretense of something my own

Inside the anonymity of this universe.

Something… what?

I cannot tell,

Nor can I know what thirst

Anguishes my fingers

While my empty palms are held

Open

White

Wanting

To skim the wounded glass of a forgotten window,

To graze the peeling husk of an abandoned door,

To know,

Something was here

But no longer is.

Memory is not such a bright thing,

I whisper to myself.

Some nights it means the tease of non-existence,

Some days it means losing something… twice

Having found it… once.

Are two losses better than one, I ask myself,

When one loss was quite enough

the first time around?

But now,

The palms…

My palms (for I do not disown them)

Are yet open

Like obsessing eyes

Even now

Even… knowing the hallucinations of memory

Are re-losses,

Even now

My palms are

Open

White

Wanting

too much light

To calm the thirst that swells

Like the arrhythmic appearance of lust,

Like a tide surrendering to the moon,

it was not my eyes that followed

but the tingling of my fingers that led

Wanting

To follow, obsessively,

to kiss the empty air in the wake of…

Wanting…

Oh, anguished fingers!

Oh, ailing bones!

Superlative

Girl with a Pearl Earring 

by Johannes Vermeer

You happened upon me

As I went on my way,

With what stealth!

With what intensity!

And it was not your beauty

That took me

Oh, no!

It was the quiver

The rustle

The swell…

No.

It was the Suddenness of You

That made me

Turn

Once

And look twice

Just… you know…

Just… to be certain… of you.