Memory -- a little imperfect poem

In 1971

in elementary school

my first year in America

alone and

discovering snow and coldness

I’d eat knishes and kosher hot dogs

from the vendor truck

at the intersection.

I’d walk home

my toes freezing

in useless boots

--all women’s boots were useless then--

mustard, and onions, and sauerkraut

dripping along my face

and gloved freezing hands

until I reached the two-story walk-up

which my family had integrated,

the scent of frying plaintains

curried mutton

ackee and saltfish

like Hansel’s thread

guiding me up the stairs

past the aroma of

gefilte fish, kugel, matzo ball soup, and whitefish

the calypso tunes

guiding me past Klezmer music

and ushering me into my front door.

I soon moved from ska and reggae

to disco, the Beatles, and Joan Baez

And always there was the familyless old lady

on the first floor

with the Auschwitz tattoo

who

taught me to play solitaire.