Author Archives: Mike Feder

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Monsters

Posted on October 18, 2020 by Mike Feder

When I watch the news and they’re talking about Covid-19, I notice they often put up a large picture of the virus. When I check on Google-Images I see that these pictures are indeed from photos of Covid-19 molecules taken under a microscope. The molecules come in many shapes and colors—some almost as perfectly structured as snowflakes, others random and unbalanced. A lot of them look like the floating mines I’ve seen in military history book illustrations and World War two movies, placed in harbors to prevent ships from entering or leaving; Some of the molecules look like old representations of alien space ships.
One thing they all have in common, though, is the fact that they can all kill you. Continue reading →

These Hands

Posted on February 19, 2019 by Mike Feder

These thin old hands—
veined, spotted, scarred,
knuckles enlarged, tendons
sliding under the creased skin. Continue reading →

The Gift

Posted on January 13, 2019 by Mike Feder

There is tiny statue of Buddha on my desk—just to the right of my computer monitor, made from brass or some cheap composite metal and no more than two inches high. This tarnished Buddha, whose facial features are indistinct, is sitting straight-backed in the lotus position on a raised platform. The statue in itself is pretty unremarkable. But there’s a story to it… Continue reading →

The Jesus Man

Posted on January 8, 2019 by Mike Feder

For a very long time there was a man who preached on the streets of my Upper West Side neighborhood on Broadway; a black man—actually, coffee-bronze would be a better description of his color Continue reading →

Childhood Memories

Posted on November 17, 2018 by Mike Feder

It seems to be common knowledge that old people tend to recall their childhoods with increasing vividness; and as their short-term memories become spotty, images and sensations from many decades ago seem crystal clear.
I know this is true for me. My memories of sixty-plus years ago—usually appearing on a time schedule entirely their own—are more frequent and, as time goes by, more achingly sharp and beautiful.
Continue reading →