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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?
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