The Valise

by Julie Standig (Doylestown, PA)

The valise was discovered directly next to two jars        

of home-made borscht, outside, on the terrace

that faced the aquarium, the Atlantic and Surf Avenue.

My mother grabbed the borscht.

I longingly looked at the luggage. Khaki camel

color with rusted brass metal latch closures,

that stuck but worked.

No surprise when I opened this time capsule—

an old Tunisian-stitched afghan made from acrylic

leftovers, which shrouded a fragile black leather,

pink ribboned photo album. The kind that held

photos in place with pasted paper corners.

I had searched every  album in my aunt’s home 

for a particular photo I had heard of, but never seen. 

The photo of her holding tight to her infant son.

In Auschwitz. The baby that didn’t make it to Brooklyn.

The photo was not there. And I had no clue 

who the people held by paper corners were. Notes

on the back were written in Hebrew and Polish. Draped

in the very familiar afghan. A blanket I knew well.

My aunt made it to keep her husband wrapped as he sat

in front of the TV on their sofa. He had lung cancer

and she aimed to stay the chill for as long as possible.

I took the afghan home, quite intent to return 

for the valise. But my mother got there first. 

She had no care for the aesthetic—saw it as garbage.

And maybe, maybe, my mother was right.

As for the afghan—it is put to good use whenever I catch

a fever, a chill, or feel forlorn. My Coney Island hug. 

Julie Standig’s poetry has appeared in Schuylkill Journal Review, US1 Poets/Del Val, Gyroscope Review and Crone editions, as well as online journals. She has a full collection of poems, The Forsaken Little Black Book and her chapbook, Memsahib Memoir. A lifelong New Yorker she now resides in Bucks County, Pa. with her husband and their Springer Spaniel. If you’d like to learn more about Julie and her work, visit: https://juliestandig.com