Archive
12/25/08
Ago
The Nativity day has arrived, right on time. But where am I, this silent morning, by myself? I alone know. I'm in Ago, not quite thirty years back — My Sligo, my Innisfree — Where our kids worshiped at the Christmas-tree altar.
It's not so much that I live in the past; I don't. It's more, perhaps, that there is no present Into which I can jettison my dispossessed spirit. Dislocation is no place for an aging man, Especially if he has no plans for finding his future.
Nonetheless, that long-gone Ago, Seeming closer to me than today does to tomorrow, Compels me back to "Daddy," "Dude," when I was. Ago holds out my only hope For sharing in the blessings of this giftless Christmas.
12/25/08
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