Wolf
Cora Schwartz © South Fallsburg, Catskill Mountains, New York Oct. 2001 Taken from my bedroom window. “One can howl hopelessly to the moon when the journey to freedom is destroyed.”
Dance With Your Father
(dedicated to my father, a victim of the 1909 polio epidemic) I watched my father limp through life. He was one of the first victims of the infantile paralysis epidemic of l909. Day after day from our stoop in the Bronx, I watched him move down the hill on East l84th Street. His body swayed […]
Bucharest at Night
Dedicated to my late husband, a Holocaust Survivor Written in my room at the Hotel Banat in Bucharest, Romania on October 28, 2018 Your spirit is here in this old hotel room Its laughter drifts out through heavy drapes Blends with echoing street sounds below. It sips local wine in the elegant glass of yesterday […]
Shit Money
(dedicated to my late husband, a Holocaust Survivor) Rudy whistles the tune with no melody, the one he learned long ago from the Naxi soldier who also strolled up and down the aisles. Rudy looks like he has all the time in the world as he throws his head back and exhales cigarette smoke into […]
One Heart
Written by Cora Schwartz (dedicated to Grandmothers) The baby stretches out on my wrinkled chest Her tiny fingers tightly curled around my useless one Her innocent eyes study snowflakes caressing the window She does not know those are my angels watching over us Just an old woman in her last moments of joy. She makes […]
February Wind
(dedicated to my late husband, a Holocaust Survivor) Friday night you are alive again I strain to hear your whistle See you burst back into life In a glorious shower of stars. Enticed by the wine glass Watching my single, hopeless tear You speak your wordless wisdom Your heavy hands resting on yellow formica. Treacherous […]
A Bronx Scene
(dedicated to women I’ve known) The Grand Concourse, Once we promenaded there in Sunday finery Past steadfast doormen Under sheltering canopies We waited in plush lobbies Where smoky blue mirrors comforted us. Now, on an icy morning The street littered with waste Seventeen, maybe less She pushes a stroller to the yawning giant Feeds it […]
To My Father
(dedicated to my late father, a child victim of a Polio Epidemic) You took pride in just being there Despite your handicap ‘Me car’s me legs’ you’d say In your fake brogue As you waited patiently outside. I will never forget The Daily News propped against your steering wheel The warmth, the cigar smoke The […]
In 1941
(dedicated to my late husband, a Holocaust Survivor) What would you have done To grasp with stiff fingers This coffee cup warmth. What would you have done To ease your blue frozen toes With these thermal socks What would you have done To be lured by the comforting waves Of this blazing fire Or for […]