the INLAID EAR

              Soham is Sanskrit for “I am That,” i.e., I am existence. Some people one can’t satisfy however one marshals one’s force. The liar fells you with a lie. The idler borrows hamburgers. You tilt your hat forward to try ‘til trying becomes your life’s course, and victories define your qi, and conflict forms your universe— and to struggle , then, is to be. One day my self asked, “What am I?” One eye to see the one great sea. One pipe to smoke the traveling sky. One swing to turn an enemy, one mouthful of spinach close by. My self bowed to the Sea Hag—hers the crone’s wisdom, the typhoon’s eye. We mean at last to still the storm, atone the fight. My soul sings aye. To blow myself down—this I am— seeking the Sea Queen’s single peace. Breathing the wet air— ham soham — we’ve woven from the warp a calm. I'm so jazzed to have a piece by Tony Speirs in the boo...

Carlton gave his grandson a BB gun— a real rifle. It had a caliber. “After breakfast I’ll show you how it’s done.” “Oh, boy!” Dad was blasé. Mom got angry. “I thought we had an agreement, Carlton.” “It comes with safety lessons, don’t worry,” he winked at the boy, “taught by the master.” “He’s too young.” “You’re too protective, mother.” “Ralph?” Mom turned, but dad was in another room, a vote in absentia. “Not funny!” Carlton barked at the boy who’d said “Pweee!” with the sight to his eye, aiming at Buck, the old retriever drowsing on the hearth. “You’re responsible now for protecting your family and yourself.” But his daughter, when he glanced at her, looked livid. “Go back to L.A.,” she thought. “Have a heart attack.” By Michael Fleischmann