Waiting for Ernest (Excerpt)

He told me to meet him at five-thirty.  It was the middle of rush hour and the crowd crushed me,

pushing and pulling.  When the train arrived I found myself inside, carried by the crowd. I held

on to my bag and took a few shallow breaths.  Just when I thought I would faint, the train came

to a stop and I got off.

It was five-thirty-five and he was not there.  My heart sank.  I blamed the crowd and the MTA

for being late.  Everything was lost.  Now what?  Where do I go from here?  I had to think fast.   

   Suddenly behind me a man asked, “You have the money?”

   “Yes,” I whispered before turning around.

   “Let’s see it," he demanded.

My hands shaking, I took out the money.  He sucked in his breath, and from his backpack took

out a package in a brown paper bag and handed it to me.  By now I regained my composure

enough to examine its content.  It was a first edition in excellent condition.  I gave him the

money, and left clutching a pristine, precious copy of The Sun Also Rises,  I was in heaven.

Margaret L.

Sept. 2019

Buttermilk Sky

I paint in quiet for some time every morning near a big window that faces southeast; I get the sun all day, all year long. On this perfect morning, I became aware of the sky moving past my window. White clouds tinged with gray and blue undersides. The wind advances the voyaging clouds-stirring and moving with today’s jet stream.

I was hypnotized by the allure, charm, delicacy of this buttermilk sky. I saw faces of young women, old men, flowers, an angel, horses and cats.

The puffy, billows of water drops form the earth’s clouds. Their mystique and beauty have been the earth's halo for eons and beyond human words. I lost myself as I and sky became one-a mystery, a secret, a hidden romance and dance between the sky and me.

Georgia P.

Sept. 2019

NIGHT AND DAY

Night and day meet

Touching shyly

Blending to the palest of grey

An unhurried harmony

being re - birthed again and again

Light to dark

Night into day

A slow chant

Intoning the same melody

A swelling serenade chorusing

In the break of day

And giving the night repose

As God would have it be.

Linda Carter Brown

September 14, 209

P.S. 54

I remember P.S. 54. I remember the the smell of tomato soup emanating from the basement lunchroom. I remember the smell of bigotry. I remember my  5th grade teacher. i remember her saying, “You Jews never knew you had so many holidays until Hitler came.” 

I remember the tedium of the afternoons in this 5th grade class. I can hear the scraping of the pencils as we copy the 25 sentences from the grammar book. My heart is beating slowly but I feel bored and angry. I am writing, writing and writing the grammar questions in my lined notebook. Fill in the correct word in all 25 sentences, then turn the page, and do the next 25 sentences, and the next 25, and the next 25. 

Miss A O’Connor has bleached red hair, wears heavy make-up and strong perfume . Every afternoon, she sits on a very high chair and rests while we copy the sentences. I remember her saying, “You Jews never knew you had so many holidays until Hitler came.” I remember the smell of chalk, dusty old textbooks, the smell of bad teaching. I am gritting my teeth. Every afternoon in this class we copy 25 sentences, 25 more and 25 more from 1:00 o’clock until the 3:00 o’clock bell rings. “you Jews never knew…..” I remember the smell of bigotry. I remember how much I hated her and her sinister words. I remember the tedium of those afternoons. I have to hold on to my desk when she says, “You Jews.” I look up at the large glass bowls  surrounding the lights that are hanging from a chain. I would like to swing on that chain and fly out of that hateful scene. 

I hear the teachers who are all sisters, Miss A. O’Connor, C. O’Connor, M. O’Connor and Sullivan snickering in the hallway. Today I want to tell Miss A. O’Connor what a horrible teacher  she is. Today I want to tell Miss A. O”Connor to give me  back my pink paper mache rabbit that she chose to display as the best in the class. I want to grab my pink rabbit and say, “It’s mine and you can’t have it.”

 

Ethyl H.

Taking the E Train

Ben H.