My Mom worked on Hudson Street, Lower Manhattan,
in the days when wholesale meat markets lined
the West Side. She kept books for the partners,
separate from the accountant’s; made tips galore
from the Blarney Stone chain on St. Paddy’s Day,
assuring each had their store-brined corned beefs on time.
Owners would call in their orders and ask,
“Olga, do you have chicken legs?” and she’d reply,
“No, all the butchers say I have very nice legs.”
Sometimes I call the old Chelsea-2 number,
knowing it’s been decades disconnected, hoping
I will hear her voice.
I have a few handfuls of pencils left over,
these once promoted the bygone business, pink, beige, green, blue,
I keep wrapped up in a rubber band, mostly unsharpened except
for the one in-use I wear to a nib. It is seldom I part
with one, but I make exceptions for those I know once loved her.
Chagall 2018
So touching. A loving mom with a sense of humor is gold.
Thank you so much. She was a sweetheart, for certain. —CC
Beautiful
Very much appreciated. Thank you, D’Fire. —CC
I love this touching tribute to your mother!
Thank you, Betty. Long time no see! —CC
Have been around, just very behind reading! Always glad to get caught up with you though. 🙂
I am happy to have you as a reader and as one whom I read. All the best. —CC
The same to you, Carlos. 🙂