July/August 2020

I open and close the same tall supple door, hang on my frozen gold hook, and wait for my life to change. I get placed into a large maroon bag and lie there, wistful and alone. The bag opens. A vivid light shines through my empty body. But then I fall onto the cold white floor. The maroon bag walks out and I know I’m lost forever. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13Brookline, Massachusetts

A sprout comes up, a raindrop falls, The shadow follows us around, The buds are born and singing too, The beauty of the spring is here with you. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13Brookline, Massachusetts

I made a journey from Boston to St. Petersburg to visit my forebears at a Jewish graveyard. On the way we stopped at a little bake shop with tired women selling day-old bread. My father and I entered a rickety gate in front of the old synagogue. A stooped man with a wheelbarrow asked if we needed water to wash the graves. Wash the graves once a year? I wondered. To connect with ancestors I’d never met? To speak to them, to hear their wisdom, to keep the memory awake? On the way back, we crossed a long grey bridge over railroad tracks and abandoned factories. I was thinking: would Russia be in my dreams if my father hadn’t left forever? Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13Brookline, Massachusetts