The dream seems to order its own ripe
Theatrics after what seems like a merciless
Induction round sprawled out on the night stage
In the dream the earth seems to awaken, then uncover
A form, a buried memory, half-forgotten theatrics
And endless pages of notes and lines of memory
In a letter my father wrote to my mother on arriving in America to pave the way for his three sons and wife, he said: “The boys will be better off in America.” He spoke about his sons getting an education and avoiding factory jobs. Three years later my father died of…
Not long after my mother’s death more than thirty years ago, I began the study of Jungian psychology. This wasn’t primarily a reflective move; I had been interested in Jung since my PhD work. But my mother’s death felt primal and in need of particular…
For my parents
The two of them, long dead, rest in photos
At opposite ends of our living room mantel
Mother at the south end, father to the north
My father, who died when I was fifteen, seemed to be in and out of my childhood and that of my two brothers. He served on the police force during the Battle of Britain, was stationed in Germany in the British Zone after the war, and later chased his dog racing track…
The lady knew her roses and her lilacs
Her geraniums and sage. And she was of the age
When carnations were all the rage. She loved
Easter lilies that broke the spell of Lent
This title came out of a very low-key conversation I had with my brother about our mother, an issue close to our hearts as we wait for the forsythia to bloom, announcing her birthday. My brother and I have daughters and granddaughters and have…
As a kid I remember my older brother John, from my mother’s first marriage, coming to our London flat with a duffle bag stuffed with his British Army uniforms. He was returning from the Far East, wherever that was. My two brothers and I were more interested in dressing up in John’s Army…
My father, dead for more than half a century, shows up on occasion in my dreams, visions and revelries. On his recent pre-Christmas calling my father was looking down at me through an open skylight, flanked on his right side by a grey squirrel. In this dream my father seemed to possess his…