Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Lana Bella
Laszlo Slomovits
Amit Parmessur
Elisavietta Ritchie
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Yuan Hongri
Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya
Alex Ferde
Karyn M. Bruce
Rajuish Mishra
Alan Britt
Patrick Ashinze
Shutta Crum
Fahredin Shehu
Paul B. Roth
Helen Gyigya
Aneek Chatterjee
Joanie Freeman

Gale Acuff
Robert Nisbet
Fred Wolven
Sreekanth Kopuri

Michael Lee Johnson
Silvia Scheibli
Richard Gartee
Ali Znaidi
Jennifer Burd

John Grey
Running Cub
Peycho Kanev
 


 


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2019 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
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AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 51 years all together....

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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

Embroidery
ó for Erna ďBabiĒ Klein

She was my motherís best friend,
and to the end, always kind to me.

After my motherís death, just months
before her own, she sent me a piece

of her hand-made embroidery ó
to remember me by, she wrote.

She was my motherís best friend,
and to the end, always kind to me.

Framed and hung where Iíd see it
every day, where the sun would

not fade it, delayed my forgetting.
But itís been years, and today,

when asked about it, I remembered
how I hadnít remembered.

She was my motherís best friend,
and to the end, always kind to me.

But look how sheís come back now,
her memory returned from where

ever it had been stitched, from where her
ever-present smile is still wrinkling into

the present, swirling her living room into
place around her, the embroidered table cloth,

the tea cups, saucers, plates with the same
classic flowers, and here comes the taste

of  her pastries, basted onto my bones,
whenever my mother brought me along.

She was my motherís best friend,
and to the end, always kind to me.

The threads in this embroidery will
outlast me. Her memory may die

with me. The yarn of this poem,
who knows?  But I remember her now.

She was my motherís best friend,
and to the end, always kind to me.

 

 

Laszlo Slomovits, Ann Arbor, Michigan

 

 

   


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