Winter has set in.

I wander though town, where
the trees have all turned to wood.
I see an outcropping on which a
gnarled pine clings. 


How do you tally a man’s life,
the life of a father, with his
commandments of “Yes” and
No,” each chiseled in stone?

What made him so sure?

I walk along Van Cortlandt Park
in the darkness. It is early morning
in the Bronx. I see a husband making
his way to the subway.

What gave him the strength?

I head down the driveway in
Croton, New York. A sculptor
stands in the garage, with hammer
and chisel in hand.

Was I present at the creation?

I park my car on Stanton Road
in Brookline, and hurry inside.
I hear the oxygen machine as
it whines in the dark.

Is he still breathing?

November 10, 2008

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter