Where My Family Came From

I don’t really know
because no one
said much
all anxious to be
Americans to be
doctors, etcetera.
Not Eastern Europeans,
persecuted, poor.
Maybe farmers.

My father’s mother Rivka
she was short and difficult
and she had thin lips.
Widowed young, she listened
to the stock market on the radio.
That was her English.
My father brought her fresh bread.
He had to lie about the price.

We grew up living as though the past
whatever it looked like
the past was entirely over.
Years later, I know that nothing
nothing is entirely over. Ever.

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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