My Grandma
My grandma had a book in which
To write what she recalled
Of her early life; I found it
And I read what she had scrawled.
She came from Pinsk and she described
A time when she was young
When she helped her mom make matzoh;
To this memory she’d clung.
Her father drove a trolley car
But left her mother when
She was pregnant with child # three –
That happened even then.
To make ends meet, her mother ran
A restaurant from her home,
A two room flat - how hard was that?
(But that’s another poem.)
My grandma never got to go
To high school, but she stayed
At a job ‘til she got married –
Just three bucks a week she made!
She never once complained aloud
Yet as I read each word,
I’m glad that even though she’s gone,
Her feelings have been heard.
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