Judy Bankman

Freda

in the photo, our eyes are big —

             I am three years old, elbow deep       

in soap suds, and she is teaching me  

            how to wash the dishes.  

my smile stretches tiny cheeks  

            wide as an orange slice, as if to say,  

what a moment to be alive.  

            in the fridge, I imagine — potatoes, apples,  

kosher dills from the cash n’ carry,  

            an everlasting supply of schmaltz  

hardened in jars. rainbows speckle the walls,  

            refracting in the tiny crystals  

on her living room lamps. 

            we are four generations apart, 

her care & her hands hold me, unwavering. 

            when she says I make her heart sing,  

she taps her chest and hums.  

            I haven’t learned yet what it means  

to fail, to hurt another person,  

            to deserve something, or not — 

and here she is, showing me  

            what it looks like to love.

Judy Bankman (she/her) lives with her dog Rosie in Portland, OR on Multnomah, Clackamas, and Kalapuya land. Her work can be found in Yes, Poetry, Souvenir Lit, Linden Avenue, and Windfall: A Journal of Poetry of Place, among others. She was a finalist in the 2020 Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Literary Festival Poetry Contest.