A Minute Made Mystery

‘Why does Scott chant if he’s such a devout Christian?” Phil asked

I didn’t know.

My soul was pained.

I loved Scott but wanted to be fair to the ‘family’.

I suspected Scott’s relationship with me was a ruse to embarrass Phil
and the Charleston chapter of Nichiren Shoshu.

I asked Scott that night as we drove across the Cooper River Bridge to
the Isle of Palms.

“He thinks we’re queer,” Scott said.

I was puzzled by Scott’s reply. “Do you love me?” I asked.

Scott replied. “I love the Lord and the Lord says to love you.”

“Who’s Lord? Why me?”

Scott was precise: “You have the soul of a woman! We are not queer!”

“The Lord says I’m not a man?”

“Jesus says! “

“Where?”

“I know these things,” Scott’s tone was soothing. “Now hush your pretty
mouth and trust me.”

We parked on a secluded road at the Isle of Palms; waves of the Atlantic
roll in.

Scott reached over and stroked my hair.

“My pretty little Jew boy; Jesus was a Jew boy, I bet he looked like you. They
killed Jesus, didn’t they?”

I was suddenly afraid.

‘Scott, take me home,” I said.

Scott opened the dashboard and smiled: “we gotta make it real is all.”

(C) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Fading Beauty

There’s a screen between us, opaque; it filters our lives.

What you see is who I want to be and what I see is what
I imagine.

Now, you are the romantic; a tragic figure fights for his
rights, an amusement for the upper class.

I dance on the table, flushed with shame, for this I will
win the crown.

I am little Miss America lost on her stroll down the aisle.

I’m your little darling who forgot to look harmless.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2016-2017

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