Amir

Born to an Arab father
and American mother
on the day the tower’s fell

never near the explosions
but a storm
wrecked havoc
in his brain

communications thwarted
flapping and screaming                                                                                                
in an effort to be understood

upset by human touch
rituals and order

were paramount
for peace in his world

autism determined
his only affliction.

Mirrors Matter

The kaleidoscope doesn’t work

without the mirrors.
intricate to the design
where reflection, upon reflection
takes slivers of colored glass
and shimmers back
multifaceted stars. 

Contrasting colors
juxtaposed to elicited
oohs and aahs from the viewer
who twists the cylinder
in order to discover
multiple patterns
hidden in the antique
artifact grandmother
carried from the south of France

no memories of bombs bursting
or hiding in the basements
angry voices while
ransacking winter stores

daring not to move lest she be found
beneath the rafters 

in the underground room

extra sweet the kaleidoscope
in the sunshine again
with symmetrical patterns to delight

children and grandchildren

for another generation.   

Momma’s Stories

My childhood was filled with stories
my momma told
those from the gospel
mixed with the tales 
from her childhood

mysterious and spooky
those fragile veils that separated
reality from fantasy, removed,
with the stories she told.

My waking hours traced
those fragile boundaries
and my dreams late at night
filtered back and forth 

at a veracious rate
mixing truth and imagination

solving daylight problems
with mystical tales
all drawn from the stories

my momma used to tell.  

Tax It All

If you make it they will tax it
sell it - tax it
publish it - tax it
work for it - tax it.

Their job, like the prostitute
is as old as time. 

“What is yours is mine,”
goes their famous line.

“Give unto Cesar what is Cesar’s,”
even Jesus didn’t dispute
the place of the tax collector
in a civilization.

Skim off the top
take wealth automatically
put it into government pockets
to support the politicians,

city workers, the educators
the firemen, police officers
and  local street sweepers.

Churches on the other hand
demand a free-will tithe

to support the cathedrals,

chalices and vestments,
alms for the poor and sick

not to mention fancy cars
conferences, body guards
and parish jobs for their families. 

The fruit of your labor
divided between them

while the freeloaders take
before you spend it. 

… then she Passed

After years together
her face is so familiar
this woman,
your mother.
You know how 
her mouth wrinkles
when she smiles ,
the sound of her voice

when she laughs,
the lines that mark
her face when she frowns.
Those dark brown eyes
with golden flecks
have watched you

for a lifetime
then one day
her memory fades
facts become jumbled
you are not recognized.
Nothing but a stranger
yet you must care for

her in her old age
while you grieve
for the woman
you once knew.
Guilty for all those
impatient thoughts
and doubts about her love.
Hours spent trying not to be like her
yet with age, you resemble her
more than ever
but she doesn’t know you.
Days go by,
weeks and months,
you get busy with your own life
satisfied her body is being cared for
and whatever happiness her caretakers offer.

You stop by to see her as often as you can
she sees a friendly face 
but you are a stranger
by her account.
Then one day she
is gone
resting in the quite solitude
of death

and you miss her so.

Argument

Words exploded in anger
rapid like machine gun fire
quick succession in order to hurt
another person with historical dirt

An apology hardly helps to heal
the mortal wound of a former friend
drenched in the toxic acid of anger
over a simple misunderstanding

War makes less sense than a disagreement
between friends, at least the two know each other,
a reason to love or hate each other.
Hopefully the friends can clear the air and reconcile
while strangers in a foreign land demand their children
rise up to seek revenge.  

Peacock in Watercolor and Oils

Paintings by drice