HOURGLASS

Hourglass filled with sand,

each grain a short film.

Soundtrack of “Always”:

"I’ll be loving you, always; with a love that’s true, always"

Hourglass sand sifting through a life,

her first sixty or so decades

then barely not at all:

crumbs frozen in time.

Still, our leading lady is with us all again,

recalling each scene we starred in together:

the long talks over coffee,

the Coney Island beaches and Far Rockaway boardwalks,

the dozens of songs,

always the songs!

Then the hourglass begins to disolve and evaporate,

grain by grain,

scene by scene,

song by song,

word by word.

And we are left here with the entirety of her life:

“Quick! Grab my hand! Where’s Mom! Where’s Jack! Oh my God! Let’s run!”

The explosions, the fires.

“Take my hand, Sophie! Thank God everyone’s all right!”

From Eastern Europe she grasped the tortured fingers of freedom at six years old.

And then while docked at Ellis Island, 

a big bright orange drops from somewhere 

into her small left hand.

“Good catch, Chanah!” Mom shouts in Yiddish

as a stranger yells to this little girl: 

“that orange is from your new home, America! 

All things sweet and safe here.”

Annie never forgot that first taste of freedom.

Then there’s Pop, Jack, and Harry in the kitchen playing cards on Yontif??!!

“Mom, as long as the family’s together”, Chanah says, and Bubby gently squeezes her daughter’s hand, nodding:

(yes, the sand always running its intolerable course without wavering)

Later she finds her card shark gangsters smoking together upstairs,

tossing Silk City quarters into the kitty:

“Here, dolls, have a little of Mom’s hot soup”, serving her brothers and leaving a kiss on Harry’s cheek. 

Now there’s Morris on the phone at the mill:

“Yes, Annie...all right, Chanahla...I’ll bring Mom over after work", 

and a few hours later she sees her brother schlepping up the three flights of stairs,

19th Avenue, Paterson.

And Sammy’s somewhere in Europe:

her tall, handsome soldier boy-baby brother.

“He should know what’s new with the family,

and what a doll Doris is!”

So she writes him letters every day.

And oh, the sand steadily piles up,

an ominous sentient snowdrift in her head.

“Al, honey, could you stop by Dora’s on the way to the store and drop off these bowls?”

“Sure, Annie, no problem.”

Annie’s never a problem.

“And Charlie, next time we visit the children up north, 

remind me to show them this beautiful letter Esther wrote me.”

“Of course, Anne, whatever you want.”

Both her husbands adored her!

Still the inevitable drip by drip,

grain after grain,

all of us here witnessing

those who were here before us,

and she has looked after us all

from both ends of the glass,

throughout those final tragic years 

never to be restrained,

speeding by without warning.

And there were phone calls to her three children in Yiddish and English,

Michigan Rummy on Thursdays, always the Mahjong,

bowling with her girls Mondays, 

making salmon croquettes for dinner

later getting up for work with Al to open the store,

all those years,

all those days,

minutes dying into precious seconds…

relentless grains of sand

flooding the hourglass.

And Myra and Marv’s wedding at Fellerman Hall on Broadway Paterson…

Judy’s ballerina dress…

Bobby’s incomprehensible explanations for a better world…

Yes, for all of us

she made enough time, 

had enough resiliency and strength 

lavished with dignity and grace:

and always, 

the lady…

Yes: "I'll be loving you, always"

Remember?

She does!

9/16/1995 

Elmwood Park, New Jersey