Portraits

Nothing Man

The Unforgiven

by Russell Edson

         After a series of indiscretions a man stumbled homeward, thinking, now that I am going down from my misbehavior I am to be forgiven, because how I acted was not the true self, which I am now returning to. And I am not to be blamed for the past, because I’m to be seen as one redeemed in the present…
         But when he got to the threshold of his house his house said, go away, I am not at home.
         Not at home? A house is always at home; where else can it be? said the man.
         I am not at home to you, said his house.

         And so the man stumbled away into another series of indiscretions…

Sleeper

Walking on Tiptoe

by Ted Kooser

 

Long ago we quit lifting our heels
like the others—horse, dog, and tiger—
though we thrill to their speed
as they flee. Even the mouse
bearing the great weight of a nugget
of dog food is enviably graceful.
There is little spring to our walk,
we are so burdened with responsibility,
all of the disciplinary actions
that have fallen to us, the punishments,
the killings, and all with our feet
bound stiff in the skins of the conquered.
But sometimes, in the early hours,
we can feel what it must have been like
to be one of them, up on our toes,
stealing past doors where others are sleeping,
and suddenly able to see in the dark.

No War,Paris 2003

I happened to be in Paris staying with my wife to be during the leadup to the Iraq War.  My experience   began  on the  underground (subway),which came to a screeching halt.Soon the streets were crowded with the most ubiquitous of all Paris sites…the protestor…a favorite french pastime…

Lonely Girl

 I was driving home on a country road and noticed the remnants of home recently destroyed by fire. Morbid curiosity got the best of me and with camera in hand I approached the scene. All around the yard were scattered boxes of belongings organized by hasty retreat…here I found the lonely girl…waiting in her damp cardboard box..