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How is it that my wife, Cathy, remembers things so
differently, That brother Bill toasted with vodka my mother, Who virtually never ate anything unkosher or drank hard
liquor, The toast said in Russian, not Hebrew, On an evening when Bill seemed blind and deaf to his wife’s
labors, Then soon afterwards would become both blind and remarried, That from the small motel room with tiny refrigerator, It was difficult for us to keep rules of Passover, That the nieces and nephews were unruly at the Seder, That it was strange how Bill alone took us hiking on the
mountain, But not unusual that Bill’s wife took the women antique
shopping, Perhaps exploring how family ties could survive upheaval? No, my memory of the last Seder is untaintable, For my now-Alzheimer-ridden mother earned that toast, And children are supposed to be children at a Seder, Husbands and wives are each part of our family, meaning Marital evolution does not negate past interactions, And beauty lies in the heart of the beholder. |
