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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
Showing posts with label remembering Bubby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering Bubby. Show all posts

Monday, July 13, 2015

Sarasota Summers

Children Playing on the Beach by Mary Cassatt
I walk along the ocean's edge today
I feel the warm, wet sand beneath my toes
Remembering the times I used to play
With grandmother in summers long ago

Collecting seashells buried in the sand
Like treasures waiting just for us to find
Along the beach we wandered, hand in hand
Our shoes as well as worries left behind

And though today  I walk the beach alone
I still keep my eyes cast upon the sand
To search for seashells even though I'm grown
Our treasures there to seek within the strand

I gaze upon my shells and feel so blessed
Those Sarasota summers were the best!

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Edge

Monday, December 1, 2014

Immigrant Stories

He was a big man with
big hands
That was all Sarah could remember
about Papa
........................................................................................
When they arrived at Ellis Island
he called her and Mama
"little greenhorns"
Sarah thought it was a term of endearment
.......................................................................................
She wore her bruises
like her daughter would one day wear
Girl Scout badges
She had a story for each:
The time she spilled her milk and broke the glass
The time she spoke Yiddish instead of English to Papa
The time she let the ice block melt
on her way home from the iceman
There were many more
.........................................................................................
Papa called Mama a fat cow
When Mama wouldn't stop crying
he hit her-hard
Sarah hid in the closet
hands over her ears
...........................................................................................
Mama lost the baby
Sarah didn't understand
but vowed to find it
Maybe then, Papa would smile
and Mama would stop crying
But Papa slapped her across the face
and Mama cried even harder
..........................................................................................
Every Friday night
Sarah says the berakah over the candles
The golden candlesticks,
the only possession they were able to bring to America,
remind her of Mama
Tarnished by the years yet
still strong,
still valuable.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Monday, February 20, 2012

Monday, May 16, 2011

Bubby's Books

image courtesy of Magpie Tales
The books you left behind are mine to hold
I read your notes and hear you speak to me
You treasured them as some would treasure gold
They brought you to a place where you were free

From you I learned that in my words there's magic
That beauty can be conjured from the tragic
From you I learned the value of my mind
The greatest gift that you could leave behind

submitted for Magpie Tales 66