WANDA

For a while now I’ve been trying to write a Serial Novel about my building. Peter said maybe it’s a (long long) poem. Here’s what happened yesterday.

Wanda was here
when I moved in
the seventies
she was an Old Lady
maybe younger
than I am NOW
thin was
her middle name
puff of
never moving white hair
high high heels
she worked on 34th Street
in an Office
went shopping
every Saturday
and Sunday
she did her laundry
got even thinner
her heels remained high
we would talk
in the laundry room
that is Wanda
would mention weather
usually not Good
she didn’t like
summer or winter
lived in a studio
no visitors
the super never
went inside
one day
a month ago
Wanda asked me
to help her into
a car service
to go to
her hair dresser
the next week
she fell in her room
died a few
days later.
The super came
to tell me
yesterday that Wanda
she didn’t have
a telephone
landline or cell
Wanda left six
million dollars.
No one knows
where the money
came from
where it will
go now.

 

 

 

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.

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