Federal style, two small chips in the gilt frame, found at a flea market in the Eisenhower '50s. 19th century American lovingly refinished, loving gift of my mother: It's too good for you, so take care of it! Some winter mornings here the taut lit face of Ethel Rosenberg, or the ecstatic face of Blake, punim of my 6-year-old grandmother, arriving stunned and mute from Vilna, her big sister Lena waiting, who knew what was at stake. Oh my fierce mother, sanding away at the kitchen table protected by newspapers, The Herald, The Forward, The Traveler, her little brush, her jar of paste preserving and inventing the past— for what? For me. For today, half-conscious glimpse of myself on my way out for a walk in February snow, with a friend, or alone, my blue woolen hat, my mirror smile… Copyright © 2017 Gail Mazur. Used with permission of the author. |
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