RIVER

My grandmother once, only once, mentioned to my father
That she used to dance by the river with other children.
He was astonished. A song was playing on the radio
The very music to which she'd danced when radios
Had not been invented. How little I know of her! She made
Noodles from scratch; she wanted three but had nine children
With a man she didn't much like. She learned English
By studying her children's schoolbooks. Her dreams
Mostly took place back in Lvov. Before her marriage
She worked in a cigarette factory; I don't know
What the brand was called. She  spoke Yiddish
And Polish and German and English; she also 
Could get by in Russian and Ukranian.
She disliked hearing the Emperor Franz-Joseph mocked.
She'd stay awake late, reading. She might keep a newspaper
For forty years, waiting for the time to finish it
Her son Morris died when he was twelve. She never
Spoke about him after she sat shivah. I like to think
He turned up now and again in her dreams wandering
Through the broad streets of Lvov with her or dancing
Down by the river.