Showing Results 1 - 3 of 3
The street lamps of the Old Town began to flare out in preparation for the night. And soon the yellow gas-lights shone in the shop windows too, and outside the little…
Worn and torn by many fingers
It stands on the bedroom dresser,
Resting back against its single cardboard buttress,
(There were two)
The gilt clasp that bound it, loose and broken,
The beautiful…
I have my mother’s black hair and green eyes,
my father’s delicate thin hands
and blood that sings and flares,
blood of grandfathers—Jews along the Dnieper;
on my head, the many nights with friends
s…