When I was young,
Age just ten,
my mother was already
middle aged.
She was forty-four when I was born.
She had lots of lady friends.
They sat on our porch
on six white rocking chairs.
They all seemed so happy --
big of bosom,
hair its natural color,
shoes that tied with laces.
My mother always knitted
as she listened
or as she spoke.
They spoke mostly in Yiddish
and they laughed a lot.
They seemed so safe, so secure.
I never heard them gossip.
They spoke of cooking, cleaning,
husbands and children.
Most of all,
they seemed to like each other.
Their laughter seemed so real.
I loved those old ladies.
Now I am old.
I have shoes with laces.
the natural hair,
the big bosom.
But I lack the leisure
of the rocking chair
and the laughter they enjoyed.