Growth

Yes, my grandmother milked a scrawny cow down by the well-house.

She made cheese and butter, and usually had her arms in bread dough.

Yes, my mother read to me from birth.

She tortured me with opera.

But I recall better my grandmother’s purple rhubarb, every spring,

And orange morning glories, every summer.

Live on they do.

But I recall my mother’s spreading palm,

Bought two decades ago from a South Florida immigrant nursery owner and drug dealer.

Live on it does.

Author: Gene Novogrodsky

Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, a Brownsville resident for nearly three decades, writes North American border slices, from eastern Canada to central Mexico, and in between. He is one of the founders of the Narciso Martinez Cultural Arts Center Writers Forum in San Benito. He sometimes participates with the informal Resaca Writers Group in Brownsville. He prefers, however, to read to two or three attentive listeners – when asked!

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