by Miriam Bassuk (Seattle, WA)
I come from wandering Jews,
merchants, lawyers, teachers,
grocery store owners.
I come from those who rode steerage
slept above deck in turbulent seas,
walked miles as young teens
to depart from Bremen, Germany
leaving all they knew
speaking Russian, Polish, Yiddish,
carrying only brass candlesticks
and a few coins.
Born from a mother
who labored long,
the only one in her family
to be born in a hospital.
All the others were born at home,
assisted by midwives.
I remember flowers, bloated
peonies on dining room wallpaper,
lilacs and lilies of the valley
gathered in large bouquets
to grace our table. I remember
my mother as a lion,
my champion at school.
When teachers were difficult,
she sang for me.
Sang sweet songs
in a kitchen, her haven,
spoke Yiddish to her father,
a frequent visitor. I remember
hot nights, looking out
my bedroom window.
Scents of honeysuckle and roses,
haunting train whistle,
far in the distance.
How we might stray far from our roots,
escape the cloistered life
of segregated neighborhoods,
only to return, imprinted
on some cellular level
by those early risk takers.
Miriam Bassuk’s poems have appeared in Snapdragon, Borderless, 3 Elements Review, and The Jewish Writing Project. She was one of the featured poets in WA 129 project sponsored by Tod Marshall, the Washington State poet laureate. As an avid poet, she has been charting the journey of living in these uncertain times.
The Jewish Writing Project 