Poetry by Laurie Miller
Cleaning out my mother’s apartment after her death.
So many things will be thrown away or donated.
I have no room for anything, even though I want everything.
I want to hold objects that might not mean much, but I’ll know
She once touched them, and they meant something to her.
I walk through the apartment, opening closets and drawers.
In the hallway cabinet, I see what I assume is a photo album
Or a scrapbook.
I drag it out and sit on the couch.
On the front page is a handwritten list in faded blue ink in
my mother’s elegant and meticulous handwriting.
#1, then the date, beginning in 1942.
The list goes on to over 300 entries.
She numbered letters. So many letters. All of them are from my father.
My parents met on a blind date.
My mother was 26, considered “old” to still be single. Almost a spinster.
My father was 31 and in the army.
Sparks flew, as did my dad, when he reported to the Army a few weeks later.
Landing in Oklahoma.
I opened Letter #1 and blushed.
My father was telling my mother that he’d rather be making love to her
than be in Oklahoma.
My dad????
I knew they loved each other, but
I rarely saw them hug or kiss.
I couldn’t stop reading.
I was witnessing their courtship.
Well, at least his side of it.
He told her when he went to the movies on the base.
He loved movies and would say when one was “swell.”
Or a “bomb.”
He told her when he went dancing at the USO.
He was a superb dancer, adept at the foxtrot, Lindy Hop or a waltz,
and would have a “swell” time.
But none of the girls held a candle to my mom.
He was such a romantic!
He’d tell her he’d been a “good boy.”
He’d tell her when he went to a Sabbath dinner or Passover Seder.
He and the other Jewish soldiers were treated differently by the other soldiers
And citizens in Oklahoma.
He tried to ignore it and keep his faith.
He went overseas and kept on writing.
The anti-Semitism among the troops got worse.
Nothing “swell” to report, except
counting the days until he could return home to “his girl.”
A year after he returned home in 1945, my parents were married.
I took the album home, and over several weeks I read every letter
I put them in order in acid-free sleeves.
I wanted my son to read them. He would learn about the
Grandpa he never knew,
as I learned about the father I loved and missed so much.
The movie buff. The charming dancer. The man of faith. The wonderful writer. The man who was smitten by the girl back home, and stayed smitten for 47 years until his last breath.
He was really swell.
Laurie Miller recently retired after 30 years as a grant writer, raising funds for foster care advocacy, the arts, and college access. Her work appeared in Vestal Review and Purrseverance: Inspiring Stories of Cat Resilience and Hope. Laurie lives in California with her husband and senior pets Ruby and Snickers.
