Back to Issue Eighteen

"Mamashaynele Ash" by Barbara Krasner

Mamashaynele Ash

I came from crematorium ashes, floating in the air

until I merged with an identical sister flake. We held hands

and found our mother who lost her grandparents

and our father who lost his grandparents. We settled

in their arms. Mamashaynele, they said, pinching

our cheeks. Silhouetted in metallic threads,

we held the Torah. We ate carp from the river

and sour cream with sugar in Passover bowls.

Mamashaynele, our thick-accented teachers

with indigo tattoos said, pinching our cheeks.

You American bubbelehs.