Where/Why and the Who,  I Am

I am a child of emigres,
Sojourners in a land that was not theirs,
Early risers, both long distance travelers,
- a traveling salesman who never forgot a customers name,
- a lover of Rembrandt, ceremonial Judaica, Broadway,
who shared her love for small stipends, traveling large distances.

They were transformational people, transformers of all they met.

Not great successes, yet well-reputed.

emphasize the small in smaller businessman,  
emphasize the part in part-time lecturer, writer,
emphasize the fullness of full time mother,

An odd couple, continentally divided,
Germany and Canada and born many years apart

Never understood the pairing, the mystery of "them,"
Different in so many ways, but inspirational to many in their own way,.

Never till just now,
got the light bulb turned on to what was their secret sauce,
the connectivity essence that wove their web
and I had a front row seat!

Story tellers both,
and if their biggest dreams went unrealized,
no matter, no matter as long as they could tell stories,
Entrancing the many Sabbath table guests, Sisterhoods,
Their Passover table included everyone on the block,
Long before 'regardless of faith, creed and color' was extant

Even interlopers, those who would beg a meal,
The professional beggars who knocked at ten pm
never went away empty handed,
Any crying child who crossed their path taken in, was restored,
Authors of good night stories that incorporated your daily escapades

Their was no commonality in their separate tales,
Their upbringings were as different as Jupiter and Mars,
But in the telling was their planetary passion released,

His ramrod posture, highlighted by eye twinkling charms,
Germanic, on Saturdays he wore a Homburg and striped pants.
Was oft disturbed by the pressures of the real world,
Never took me to Yankee Stadium.

But to this day, his children are approached by strangers,
Grown men and women now,
Who all say the same thing,
I knew your father.

The where and why of my life is still a mystery to me,
What I will leave behind that is worth cherishing may be  
Less than a zero sum game, but now I see that
Nature trumps nurture, for the story telling gene is
Strong in their offspring, inheritance, both sides.

What they gave me, all their children, was this:

The fearlessness to sign your name
to a public document like this poem,
to do small acts of public service kindness
and thousands of small private one for no thanks,
that lays yourself out, open to snide critique and ridicule,
Above all, tell stories.

The Where/Why of my parents lives'
explains mine somewhat,
or maybe even,
its entirety.  

Feb 2012,  
above the intersection of
Wyoming, Colorado and Utah

With cause yet without reason she exists,
With sapphires for windows and a searing callous pith for a soul. Gentle yet vicious,
Deafening yet silent, stagnant in movement yet ever moving yet nobody cares.

Drenched in sunrise her skin flashes gold, and silver, and apricot and peach, and ***** coloured like worn cotton of a saari,
Cascading in emeralds and diamonds and rubies whilst filling the empty space with daggers that slice through the very nature of what it is to be human.

And still as she is constant in her ways of corroding the bewitching emigres on which she laid her foundations,
She is fickle.
The once sapphire windows become dulled and turn to lulling pools of icy slate,
Her viridian flesh tears down the breath it once nurtured.

The sapphire windows become slate and the viridian flesh becomes sapphire, and all is left is nothing.

he had become the kind of man
women no longer fell in love with
Which was his ambition, over a decade ago
though no one believed him

he had planned a singular future
a cartographer of the new found land
drawing blanks
blank mountains, blank rivers, uninhabited plains

he had always thought of himself as a progressive
a philosopher, ahead of the herd
yet he had never broken free of the
backward thinking

he had found fault, every day, in all previous judgments
the wig, worn, tatty

he had been told, he was loved
in that barely remembered past present moment
yet now, all were elsewhere
with better people, in better places
emigres from the state he was in

he had decided then, to work on forgiveness
deciding betrayal evened out between people
over a lifetime,
like luck in die rolls

anyway

he had convinced himself
that while there was such a thing as truth
You could, alone, decide
and settle on that
If he didn’t start an argument
there wasn’t one.