She woke with the Yiddish opgetn on her lips,
a word she hadn’t heard since she was small
when spoken late at night in the hushed kitchen
of a railroad flat on the Lower East Side
as she pretended to be asleep in the next room.
It was always better to listen,
better to know.
When I got home late that night our bed was gone,
taken apart slat by slat, rail by rail,
and shipped into the future which,
though often unremarkable, is always unknown.
Ordinarily, she didn’t trust in dreams,
but she wasn’t one to allow herself
to be taken by surprise.
Alan Walowitz has been published various places on the web and off. He is a Contributing Editor at Verse-Virtual, an Online Community Journal of Poetry, and teaches at Manhattanville College in Purchase, NY and St. John’s University in his native borough of Queens, NY. Alan’s chapbook, “Exactly Like Love,” was recently published by Osedax Press.