Charlotte Russe
To the memories of my mom, Millicent Kant (1928-2014) and my grandmother, Helen Glaser (1900-1988)
"You have to eat
the cake," my grandma
said, her version of
stern, which was not stern
by most standards
of the stern-loving world.
"I will," my mom
would promise,
her beautiful hazel eyes
preening and glowing
as they embraced
the prospect
of a Charlotte Russe
with its deeply alluring
whipped cream top
and its mostly embarrassing
thin layer of cake underneath
Which she wouldn't finish anyway
ever
and my grandma would grumble
and finish it eventually
and the next time she would say
to my mom yet again:
"You have to eat the cake."
And my mom would promise,
her eyes bright with minor
treachery
as they embraced the window
of the bakery
on Lydig Avenue
and the dancing food heaven of whipped cream
therein
Pelham Parkway Poems
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Monday, October 26, 2015
Chinese Cookies
Chinese Cookies
New York Chinese cookies:
studies in flour and chocolate heaven,
not those thin almond things.
Last Friday
I took the Riverline
to New Jersey Transit.
As I ordered Chinese cookies
and black-and-whites
at Zaro's in Newark Station,
my grandmother's
voice and hands
took the boxes
and carried them with us
all the way back.
She took the 2 train.
I took New Jersey Transit.
She bought them
at the big bakery
a block away.
I traveled ninety miles.
Together we escorted
the boxes back
and forward in time
and made sure
that no cookies broke.
New York Chinese cookies:
studies in flour and chocolate heaven,
not those thin almond things.
Last Friday
I took the Riverline
to New Jersey Transit.
As I ordered Chinese cookies
and black-and-whites
at Zaro's in Newark Station,
my grandmother's
voice and hands
took the boxes
and carried them with us
all the way back.
She took the 2 train.
I took New Jersey Transit.
She bought them
at the big bakery
a block away.
I traveled ninety miles.
Together we escorted
the boxes back
and forward in time
and made sure
that no cookies broke.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
The Bronx Upon a Time
The Bronx Upon a Time
Six story buildings
with gently
weathered brick
preside
over
the cracks
which give kids a way to
learn the math
of sidewalks.
Women stand
and chat.
Their baby
carriages
snare passersby
who smile.
Cooking smells beckon.
No one is ashamed
to be seen.
Six story buildings
with gently
weathered brick
preside
over
the cracks
which give kids a way to
learn the math
of sidewalks.
Women stand
and chat.
Their baby
carriages
snare passersby
who smile.
Cooking smells beckon.
No one is ashamed
to be seen.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Choosing Up For Dreams
Choosing Up for Dreams
Imagine ten kids
who, instead of choosing
for softball or hoops,
put their fingers out
for dreams
one gets boat
owner and swimming
coach
with small town
bungalow
another gets stockbroker
with wrap around window
condo
another gets electronic
engineer with house
in quiet boring suburb
yet another gets prison
for thirty years
after killing her abuser
and you wish that they
could choose again
just to see if they'd get
something better
but by then the fingers
are clenched in again
and the world sails along
until someone wishes it flat
and dreams squish
pancake style
along with doubts
and possibles
and someone
we can't imagine yet
crows in flat language
"I told you so."
Imagine ten kids
who, instead of choosing
for softball or hoops,
put their fingers out
for dreams
one gets boat
owner and swimming
coach
with small town
bungalow
another gets stockbroker
with wrap around window
condo
another gets electronic
engineer with house
in quiet boring suburb
yet another gets prison
for thirty years
after killing her abuser
and you wish that they
could choose again
just to see if they'd get
something better
but by then the fingers
are clenched in again
and the world sails along
until someone wishes it flat
and dreams squish
pancake style
along with doubts
and possibles
and someone
we can't imagine yet
crows in flat language
"I told you so."
Friday, October 2, 2015
Charms
Charms
To the memory of my grandma, Helen Glaser (1900-1988)
Little sweet squares
in bright colors
resembling flavors
before Lifesavers
You bought them
in Olinsky's
around the corner
when you bought
chocolate kisses
obviously for us,
the kids,
but my mom and dad
liked both
The floors
still had hay stalks
on them
and an appetizing counter
You took a number
and waited
Neighbors talked
and shrank the world
to four streets
They made politics
with their hands
I grew happy
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Crack In Time
Crack In Time
Looking up to people:
not all it's cracked
up to be
So much better
to revere
trees or sky
or birds
At least they don't
throw unexpected
temper tantrums
or a third finger
Ever seen a tree
make fun of
denim skirts?
Ever seen
sky
unfriend?
Crack crack
Human shell may break
into small flecks
like Humpty
But it's how birds
get born
Looking down
Looking across
Easy as saints
Until they crack up
Crackdown is just
as bad
Monday, September 14, 2015
The Fires of Autumn
The Fires of Autumn
(To the Memory of My Mother - Millicent Kant (1928-2014)
When autumn came
to the Parkway,
it was as if
the trees decided
to play
with the warmest
colors
they could find
and sent them
to unsettle
everyone who lived there
into dancing
on the most unsettling
air
it could supply.
In my Rosh Hashanah
dreams
you sang,
matching your high notes
to your scarf
as if they became
colors
that already knew
northern autumn.
We were supposed
to be sober
and think.
But when you sang
I could feel nothing
but love that
pretended
to be sad
but lilted
in tones tinged
the deepest of
burning orange.
Day shortened,
but burned
and trembled
all the higher,
like God
vanishing in the
holiest of flames,
if one decided
to believe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)