Grace
By Sarah Gambito
You will transcend your ancestor’s suffering
You will pick a blue ball. You will throw it to yourself.
You will be on the other side to receive.
Green leaves grow around your face.
Hair stands on your body.
You look at old photographs
that say:
The bread is warm!
A child is a blessing!
That’s what I said!
I meant it!
You could say this is a poem.
Like the great halves of the roof
that caved and carved together.
Found us before words
and tender-footing.
Before wrongdoing
and the octaves of blue
above us all.
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My Wednesday was mostly more scanning and looking things up so I wouldn't have to scan them, with a long lunch to talk to my high school friends. I've never been big on genealogy, in part because it's so hard to trace Ashkenazi Jewish families after the Holocaust, but since my mother-in-law had so many addresses where her English and German relatives lived, I looked up my great-great-grandparents' address in Warsaw that was in my great-uncle's book about growing up in Brooklyn, and to my surprise the address still exists, though I have no idea whether it's the same building.
We took a walk before dinner -- the wind chill was pretty bitter, but the light is staying longer in the evenings, and it put us in the mood for soup and cheese. After dinner we watched Legends of Tomorrow, which has been very stylized and clever and fun this season, and The Book of Boba Fett, which I forgot wasn't an episode of The Mandalorian and I'm looking forward to how they reconnect, since Boba Fett's return was on that show in the first place. Here are several views of the Navy-Merchant Marine Memorial on the Potomac River from last weekend:
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