Memorial Day Part Two My Father

My brother Sam sent another

story about my father in the army. What

we remember and what we don’t. (Someone

asked a few weeks ago: is every

story a poem?)  A man named Hop

was in my father’s unit.   Jew and Chinese

they became roommates. Hop

had a big knife that he brought with him

to the army. He used his knife for baking pies

and all through their time together Hop

baked them pies. My father said he’d never

eaten pies as good again.

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.

2 Comments

  1. Esther, just wanted to let you know how I enjoy your poems. They are a daily enjoyment that I always look forward to.

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