Raised up in the Bronx

I say, "We weren't poor?"
Lenny says, " Did you have your own bedroom? If you didn't have your own room you were poor."
"Actually?…Never had my own room…Shared the room with my brother.
Got married at 18 and once again shared the room. But…at this point I even shared the bed.

"Make the bed!" she said. Rough bedspread in her hand.
I see it in my mind's eye today.
"Why", I said, "They do it." "They" "The LAW?" "The behavior police" "My inquisitors" "They" knew it all. They didn't like my ideas. That's for sure.

Had a birthday party once.
My Sweet Sixteen. It was a month late.
Was it sour like unused milk?

Went to school each day.
Wore a black suit. It was my mother's.
Loved it actually. I'd dieted to fit into it.
John McGiver, the actor, taught there
An English teacher in a black suit.
He was across the hall with his English demeanor.
Oh, what drama he oversaw at Columbus High School.

Who was the girl raised in the Bronx?
Alone! Jewish! Unacceptable! Clumsy! Smart!
So smart that I didn't go to college.
Too busy hanging out with the gang that smoked.
Learned to smoke in the Bronx Botanical Gardens…
After hours. Snuck inside through the wire fence.
My boyfriend taught me how. A forty year long habit begins. He was Italian! Catholic! Undesirable…He loved me!

Went to camp…alone…clumsy…moody…
The girls chirped daily at breakfast, " Fern's in a good mood.
Fern's in a bad mood." More discerning than my Mom.
She didn't know I had moods. Feared my moods.
Feared my intelligence. Feared me.
Tried to dumb me down…even before educators invented the concept.

"Fern, why do you have to think so much?"
"Fern, where did you copy these poems from (myself)?
"Fern…Fern…Fern… be like them!
Act like them. Be them. Be other. Other than you are.
"Smother yourself girl if you get the idea."

"Thanks Mom. You don't see.
You don't get it. I'm me."
You see... Couldn't do it if I wanted.
Wouldn't want to if I could…but I've got to get away.

Wasn't strong enough.
Didn't have the guts! Didn't know enough…
A child caught in a strange place …clueless.
Took circular roads to unknown places.
Cried a lot…tried a lot…

Raised up in the Bronx on the better side of town
Great place to be…great time to be
And 'til today and through it all
You see me here…a survivor…still running after all these years.

Never Again

So we once more must pray for the innocent dead.
The young and strong. They're only fault going out to a party,
Riding a bus. Getting married, celebrating the Passover.

So, we once more suffer the anger,
The rage of others. Directed towards us as scapegoat for their lacks.
We said, "NEVER AGAIN". We will not falter or forget".
We said, "NEVER AGAIN". We will be aware, alert, attentive.

Raised we said, "NEVER AGAIN". "We will be alert, aware. Attentive".
We said, "NEVER AGAIN". "REMEMBER." "TELL YOUR CHILDREN."

But, we forgot about deceit.
Forgot the two-faced smile.
Forgot that promises may not hold fast.
Took illusion as if it were fact.
Dreamed an ideal offered so coyly
And held out our hand of friendship: an olive branch shivering.

We were watchful, cowering, fearful of our fate
And this the bullies saw.
No more boasting pride! No more bragging swagger.
Less than strong and fading fast
Getting smaller by the day.

So, once "AGAIN" the torment..
Obey their rules; forsake your faith.
Give back the land. "It's ours."
Landless again will we be kicked and pushed?
Burned and herded into railroad cars to nowhere?
Will we who feed the homeless, be homeless?
Will our children who help others lose all.

We said, "NEVER AGAIN"
Let's remember.
We said, "NEVER AGAIN"
Let's be brave.
Brave enough to be worthy of ourselves.

The Late Night Search

Here I am in a wonderful place.
It's full, jam-packed with "stuff"

What do I mean …STUFF?
Chinese bowls, pictures galore
Things rarely bought in the average store.

But what I need is something else.
Let's see…Where will it be…

I'm a writer, a late-into-the-night writer
Quietly seeking, too lazy to go upstairs again,
Seeking paper and pen.

A search quite extensive and I've won.
The result is here for you
A simple ode to tell you
What you already knew.
This house we're in is special.
A treat for all to see,
But far more its beauty is the people who live here.

They welcome you and welcome me:
Kind, helpful, gracious,
Can't be more glad to see you,
And, the feelings are real, and the feelings are mutual.

I love you all.
The folks I know here.
The folks I meet here.
They're folks who drink beer here,
And care for you, and don't smoke anymore.

Thanks for all your caring. Your sharing, and
Letting me be myself here.
Makes me feel like a little part of heaven waits for me
Here in Panama City. Open for hugs all the time.

And I found out what's not about in this wonderfully, well-stocked place …A notepad.

On Sharing our Lives

Suddenly we had a new time; another chance
For caring, sharing, loving,
Having someone to come home to.

So much your love has done for me.
Perhaps without you I could not survive. And, too, I've brought myself to you
With its twists and turns,
Hoping our sharing continues to exist
Forever…shalom…peace…much love.

The Gifts

So many gifts: Abundant
Too easy to settle on,
Obsess on, home in on
The loss, the lack, the empty hole.

Don't, oh please, don't forget the many
For the few

Celebrate the good, the true
Those loving you --
Welcoming you
Caring for you.

Thank the Lord, Hashem, for the gifts
Knowing that gifts are meant to be
enjoyed.

(For Richard)