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—Nevertheless you did kill him?
—I was present at his death.
—Present with a knife.
—Mine was not the only hand on that knife.
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Here we let the children tell whatever stories serve their needs. We were surprised, though, when they started a church. We had thought, naively it seems, there were enough religions, but they were all founded on faith and suddenly, empty chapels are easy to come by. Read the rest of this entry »

The secret I felt thrust upon me is nothing I wish to claim; a syllable it was that earned me this room and in itself the syllable was true. From my small town near Pisa where bread was scarce I’ve journeyed here to a room of my own, Read the rest of this entry »

Can a saint keep a diary? Only a saint could think so. For the rest of us the truth is in the life and all biography is betrayal. We have only so much perspective. Read the rest of this entry »

When the great wars began, hundreds of clans held sway over portions of the enormous land, each with its own gods and culture, totems, legends, marriage laws and methods of war. Read the rest of this entry »

She stands seven feet tall or taller when she stands, to his scant five-and-a-half, but she will never stand again. Felled by the foul murder of her only child, she will bear him now forever mother eternal across the sawhorses of her monumental marble legs. Read the rest of this entry »

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The pen name David B Dale honors my parents Beatrice and Dale. David+B+Dale = davidbdale

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