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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 2, June 2015


Ruth Holzer
Herndon, Virginia, USA


It’s something that a man says to his wife, never the other way around: Hok mir nit kayn chainik, meaning, don’t bang my kettle, lay off, quit nagging me. As soon as I’d hear those words—their sharp clanging, knocking sounds—I’d know that worse was to come. A declaration, not of war, for that was a constant, but the breakout of a sudden new skirmish. Wounded pride versus powerless anger. Which was which this time? Soon a plate might fly, or a door slam in temporary finality.

TV soap opera—
her ironing board

She wound up alone at the end, but didn’t seem any happier. Who to blame now for what went wrong today, last month, fifty years ago? I tried to amuse her as she lay bedridden; I sang the Little Teapot Song and, between the oxygen tank and the commode, I danced for her, holding out my arm, tipping my head. Do it again. Over and over.

in the drained cup your future



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