My Mother And What We Remember

Although I’d like to believe otherwise
maybe it all comes down to my mother.
She never said Boy Am I Happy
You Wrote That Poem.
Even my seventh grade poem
about Joanie Mendlestein’s first date
with Abe (they eventually married).
Joanie borrowed my mother’s
bright blue flats because Abe
was only 5’5 and so was Joanie.
My mother said height matters only
a little. It’s not, she said,
of primary concern. Secondary, she
emphasized. We waited up on our porch
for Joanie to come home. Then
she leaned back for him to
kiss her goodnight. My family
quietly clapped.

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.


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: