Sister
Dvora Baron
1910
As a symbol of the past—all sadness and humility—my mother’s face swims up and rises before my eyes. Her eyes two black abysses, anguish peering from them; her lips moist and rosy, a smile always hovering over them.
Did she also have beautiful hair? Did she have a nice voice? Who knows? She was a modest Jewish woman who never sang out loud in her…
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