Four Stories

By - May 30, 2018


A Dog Dream in Thessaloniki

I’ll never wake up here again. The air is clear on the morning of departure, and I watch a small black mutt navigate the length of the balcony the floor below. He limps as he walks. He goes inside, reemerges…suddenly I am in his brain.



Mary Wears the Moon

Full moon, silver wobbling globe in sky, appears at times
to replace Mary’s earlobe, becomes an earring, she wears the moon.

In her bedroom, behind her back, I watch a white curtain suck in
and out with an unfelt wind.



The Quiet Abode, 1890

Upon my return to Jerusalem, nothing soothes me more than looking at the painted image of a quiet evening in countryside Russia composed more than one hundred years ago.

A little wooden footbridge leads across a clear and calm stream…a sandy path…reaches a cool meadow…disappears into woods…Through the woods…a small village…a church with gold crosses standing taller than the pines…the occupants of the small village, good, honest, God-fearing people…over this good, small village stretches clear, evening sky…dappled clouds…These good woods, protective woods, murderous woods…

I know this painting, because it is on the cover of my Chekhov collected stories (painter Levitan was his closest friend). What one learns about life there is not quite as soothing.




You will disembark, you will find your way to the Grand Concourse, where you will find your loved ones, and if you have no loved ones, you will find taxi cabs, Greyhound, Peter Pan, and Mega buses to take you farther away.