Born out of love
in a bombed-out country
still reeling from two world wars. They sacrificed their religion to the altar of their indifference.
Packed up their youthful spirit and emigrated to where the streets were paved in gold.
At least the cigarettes were cheap.
They were a priceless match.
Foreigners caught up in the vortex that was Gotham. They settled into an old brownstone four flights up, with an infant, full of sass, testing their mettle.
The three of them learned American English. And the girl grew. At five, she attended school and helped them with the slang. Dared her mother to wait and watch as she swished the overcooked vegetables around her plate. The child was hungry for other things.
She had their energy times ten. Often eluding her custodians, she opted instead to find and adopt new upper-class parents, informing the friendly patrolman in 1961 that she lived on 42nd Street. Not East 83rd, as her desperate mother and close friend Edith tried to prove. And she almost made it.
It was probably due to their coercing her to play with a cousin who teased her dreadfully. Poker-faced, they now hearkened to the child that should only be seen.
She, the firstborn,
the twinkle in her grandfather’s eye, destined like them to explore their world, develop new ties, and focus her long lens on the prize.
12/31/25
Corney Press 