the stones told the story
born in . . . died in . . .
a name
in Hebrew
in English
dates in both
but I only knew you
from stories
and old photos
immigrants to America
modestly dressed
in old-fashioned clothes
my bubbe
my zayde
gone before I made
my appearance in 1946
what would have changed
had I known you?
maybe I would be
more observant
more in tune with ritual
but I’m confortable
with my faith as is
yet I feel the lack
the emptiness inside
from that missed connection
when I hear Yiddish
or old Jewish melodies
I think about you
and realize that my mother
was a role model for me
as bubbe to my children
since I never knew my grandparents
so I cook
I teach
I listen
I tell stories
and I pass on the love
that I missed
but still have inside to give
draft copyright 2009 Linda H. Feinberg
On electronic retreat this week. No more blog entries this week.
1 comment:
simply beautiful and touching Linda, wonderful pacing to this poem. thanks for sharing.
Your drawing is really good, try scanning and leave out the rocks and play with some color. I actually like the rocks, they seem to ground the image. Love, Jeanne
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