Tonight we light the candles
When the
holiday begins,
As the
latkes fry in oil
And the dreidel
quickly spins.
We’ll try to
block out hatred,
Often aimed
to harm or scare
As the world
keeps moving onward,
In most
cases, unaware.
It’s
impossible to fathom
So much loathing
and for what?
Yet we’ll
watch the candles glowing
And be glad
for what we’ve got.
We’re born; we learn.
We grow; we
thrive.
We mourn; we
yearn
And so, survive.
We strive;
we nest.
We laugh; we
cry.
Alive, we’re
stressed,
Then lo! We
die.
While eating some cherries,
I have to
admit
That the
fruit is delicious,
But lickety-split
The bowl
will be empty
Except for
the pits
And the
stems that released them
For our
benefits.
The cherries
are bursting
With beauty and
taste,
Though the
pits and the stems
Will get
tossed out as waste.
When life is
described as
This fruit
in a bowl,
It’s obvious
that
All the
cherries are whole
And likewise,
when everything
Seems on the
fritz,
It’s apt to
believe that
Your life is
the pits.
My husband likes conversing
With most
anyone he meets,
Including taxi
drivers or
The ones in Uber
fleets.
Domingo was
our Uber guy
And on the
ride, we shared
Some talk of
life and grandkids,
But I doubt
he was prepared
When a
question was presented
Asking him
to think and rate,
On a scale
of 1 – 10,
Just how
happy was his state.
At first he
didn’t get it
Then he
smiled and said most days
His number
would be 8 and next,
He listed
all the ways.
He and his
family have their health,
He has a home
and work
And seeing
others suffer,
He knows
dangers that might lurk.
So all in
all, his life’s okay
And he feels
satisfied,
A pleasant
conversation
For our
Wednesday Uber ride.
My aunt plays mah jongg twice a week
And, far as
I can tell,
She likes
the game at the Senior Center
Known as “Aging
Well.”
While visiting,
I joined her there
And dusted
off my skills,
Observing
all the functions that
The Center
thus fulfills –
Camaraderie,
the sense of pride
That
competition brings
And time
away from home in which
To stretch
reluctant wings.
At 97 years
of age,
My aunt
still likes to play
And “Aging
Well” allows her
To keep
doing things her way.
When visiting my older aunt,
We sit and watch TV.
When she’s alone she does this,
But it’s not the same for me.
So I was not familiar with
Shows like “Let’s Make a Deal”
Or “Wheel of Fortune,” which to many
Really do appeal.
It seems that the contestants must
Be smiley, showy, loud
And enthusiastic to a point
Of which I’d not be proud.
The audience is into it -
They clap and whoop and cheer,
As grinning hosts might wonder
How they made this their career.
Yet all these shows are popular,
Which doesn’t shock me much,
But makes me see how with this country
I am out of touch.
Esther’s apartment is almost the same
As it was when she lived in its space.
Her son and her daughter-in-law (my dear friend)
Live there now and her vibe they embrace.
All her furniture’s there and her dishes and lamps
And the paintings of many a child
(Even Esther), plus one of a rabbi and all
By her father, professionally styled.
For the last twenty years of her life, Esther made
The apartment a welcoming home,
Where her family, including great-grandchildren, came,
Never thinking they’d be in a poem.
But my favorite thing was the album, quite big,
Of her wedding, a gala affair,
All the images captured in black and white shots
With a true 1950-type flair.
Esther’s spirit lives on, which would not be the case
If my friend and her husband weren’t there,
But they’ve honored her past as their future is made
Which, to me, seems so special and rare.
