Friday, September 16, 2016


There was a crowd of strong, small, humorous women
With sharp eyes. My mother was one of them
Along with any number of her aunts, cousins and friends
(Her sister was another type altogether, unable
To see through a stone wall. On the other hand,
Like Yosemite Sam or Wile E. Coyote
Tamara could absent-mindedly walk off cliffs
And not fall unless she looked down.)
Some of this breed stayed behind in Poland;
Pictures of the poet Wislawa Szymborska
Make it clear she could love you
Despite the faults she knew you had
And which she'd list on slight provocation.
More; in emergencies she could create
Virtues in you no one else could even imagine.

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