The holiday/we are in the bronx/alone and retained by our own demise

We are Jewish women/like cutout paper dolls/shifting our wigs/preparing  fish and soup/Steve and I sit quietly waiting for the vendor to set up for the day. Another James Baldwin is on our minds/the wait to hone a poem/sell a piece of art-speak to our children/play with the grandchildren.Awash of colr and steeped in my heart a language of love and appreciation for the morning raga/a flight all our own.