Plan B (Real Meditations)

Still summer.  Don’t worry that summer

will be over.  Summer is never over.

Memory is as real as summer.  My father

bought a beach house with his Cornell roommate

Solly Stein inventor of the Puritron.   Big

duplex on top of a sea wall on the Jewish beach

in Woodmont Connecticut next door to the Italian beach

though we rarely crossed over to the Italian side.

Those summers  much longer than summers are now

slow days swimming lying on the rocky beach

imagining  other summers  when I

was older when I had a real life (I didn’t know those summers

were real life then) when I had a lover maybe even

a child or two when I had a good job and had seen

Africa Egypt Italy Israel when I could read

as much as possible even write my own sentences.

Abby and I would draw our lives on those rocks and

when the tide changed the rocks would be washed

clean and the next day we would draw our lives 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.


  1. Love this. I remember Woodmont and long summers. My first kiss was Joyce Glazer. We were six. Bess, Herman, Alice, and Jerry thought it was cute.

  2. Esther, I love this. The sense of the Connecticut shore (know it well), suspended time, and that young dreaming about what your life will be like when most of it is ahead of you. That sense of fullness and possibility.

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