All are asleep when I return
But I do not feel alone.
The kitchen is a quiet welcome, chapel lit
By the glass encased memorial candle
For a grandmother I had never seen.
My father's words, her only photograph,
"Suffered much. Always gentle." The glass is almost empty now,
Flashing wild hunger for tallow
To neutral walls.
I sit and watch. Finally,
Resignation, a tiny flame.
The last weak flicker
Fades to a thin smoke wisp
Around my finger
As I reach for arms
That never held me.
|"The Byte and Bits of Language is a rare gem, remarkable for the brevity and clarity in which the author unfolds the basic tools of sentence writing(and reading) in the simplest terms possible. Max Berkovitz has devoted a lifetime teaching young students how to write. Having been one of those students (over 25 years ago), I can assure you that young men and women will come away from this little volume with a feeling of enlightenment and all the power and confidence that a mastery of the English language can provide." Robert H. Kohn|
With abiding love and gratitude]
#99FF00strong> What chance delight I take in days,
In facing vagaries of fate,
Or laughing in denial’s face,
Whatever skills I have to glean
The sunspot in the deepest fog
To know that I deserve good care,
Was gleaned in some odd mystic path
From love your parents gave to you
So richly and abundantly
There was enough to shower me -
[and God know many others too]
To change my world from pain and rue
To self appreciation due
To every one - but in my life
A gift from you
It always, only, came, from you
And this is Max and this is love
And nothing else is quite as true.
With love, always