Airport limo drivers are like fighter pilots. Hurtling towards oblivion on the B.Q.E. or the L.I.E., the Grand Central Parkway or Utopia Parkway, the Jackie Robinson or the Van Wyck. The chaos of Queens is the chaos of now. My...
I noticed the children were all taking off their shoes as if they were entering a shrine, as if they were about to enter a special, consecrated place. Then quietly and with reverence they began the walk to explore.
Mr. Papadopoulos’s Cousin Lalekos
The time came when Etienne and I desperately wanted a boat. We saved. It would have to be a used boat, of course, but we found family backing, matching funds and so on from...
White translucent balloon
lost from a child’s delight
skips freely for a moment
along the sandy landscape
draws pattern on the wind.
Sapphire sky backdrops
its wild frolic.
Time shifts. Afternoon light
kindles the beach bright umber.
This is my story of the summer of 1949. I was 9, chubby, not too athletic or to be more honest not athletic, but doted upon by many assorted aunts, maternal and paternal, and, of course, by my mother. I worshipped my fourth grade...
Before the onset of age and arteries
breakfasts were freewheelin’ affairs
runny sunny-side-up eggs on a stack
with crispy bacon and greasy home fries
buttered white toast and java black
heated debates with friends and foes
Southampton, Majors Path, age 5: Sunday late afternoons Dad would lift me onto his bike and pedal through long green lanes to Sip ’N’ Soda, where we’d lick matching banana cones. Wet creamy fruit on our tongues,...
It seemed like a good idea at the time, if not a little bizarre; things were getting worse with Mother.
When we wheeled her to the park, the only thing that made Mom smile was the sight of children,...