Yasu
Friday, December 5, 1941 7:52 a.m. “Yasu?” The man snorted. “I never heard that name before, and I’ve heard some strange ones living in a big city.” Yasu pressed his
Rivka
Winter “I’ve got an extra sauce. I think it says “Pollyanna” on it. Do you want it?” Jude looked up from his chicken nuggets. He still couldn’t believe he was eating
Not Exactly Luck
Sacrilege Eden, c. 4004 BC “This is delicious! Maybe Elohim really was keeping the best from us.” Adam stared at the large spherical fruit his wife was cradling in her hands. “It does
A Time to Weep
Desert-grimed sandals stop a few feet away from her. The dark-haired owner of the sandals looks at her. He loves her. Questions and hurts reverberate inside her. They don’t fade, but only
If One Leg Is Enough
As Friday night’s Epicureans crowd the roadways, a fifteen-passenger van squeaks to a halt beneath a hotel portico. Four silhouettes stir inside the van. A side door creaks open. Two sandal-heavy feet
Jephthah and Thomas Edison
September sunlight toasts the assortment of modern-day chariots dutifully freezing in place in the parking lot. A fledgling breeze gushes energetically but quickly exhausts itself. I stand behind a blue and white Bruins-wrapped
Doubting Tomas
“When I’m in nature, that’s god to me!” The man looks at me and grins widely, displaying teeth a hygienist would envy. A river breeze ripples through his long, wavy brown
Most Dangerous Tightrope
Tightrope artist isn’t one of my top one hundred career choices. While every job demands high accuracy, the tightrope demands perfection. An inch off isn’t “close enough.” I wouldn’t last
We Were Good Pals
On a bustling college campus, you encounter many people. When you pass someone on the sidewalk, do you try to make eye contact and smile? Maybe say hello? Imagine that you look up
Tumult
I am the hurricane that shakes, The devious earth that quakes, The senseless distraction that takes, The great heart-emptiness that aches. I am an 11:58 submission, Cold, relentless opposition, Cruelty without contrition,
The Blue-Clad Boy
Crouched on a hillside Lies a lone soldier. Eighteen, he claimed to be, A lad of just fifteen. Hated soldiers advance upward; Lone soldier squints and takes aim. Many a day he trained
Thirty-First
A maniacal canine howl vibrates across the sky. On the porch I sit acquainted with loneliness. Even the trick-or-treaters slumber now; The evening’s bright orb keeps watch. As I shift my feet,