Case Fresh Fruit. Unhandled. (COVID)

Handwritten sign in front of

Mazzella’s Market on Ninth Avenue

between 47th and 48th  says

Case Fresh Fruit.  Unhandled.  And

I think of how much is unhandled now.

We don’t pick our carrots at the

farmer’s market they choose for us my neighbor

Nick always gave me a kiss hello the super

now comes into the apartment with his gloves on

but inside this apartment, still bright orange,

still facing the conical turret of the Museum

of Natural History where Margaret Meade once sat,

Peter and I sit on the Vietnamese brown leather couch

watching movies, holding hands.


Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.


  1. Yes! Peter is super. But it struck me funny thinking the Superintendent of the bldg being forlorn with you, mourning over the loss of the tactile touch of carrots. Wait ’til the food disappears then I too shall be a mourner on your couch gloved masked and six feet apart remembering Margaret Meade. Thanks for being your real, Esther.
    With Great Respect and Love, Dee

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