A Humble Hero

The kitchen is flooded with light.
Sun dancing on the walls.
I hear familiar footsteps,
and his sweet voice,
" mama when I grow up can you give me
the recipe for chicken cutlets."
My son's face eager,
his eyes shinning.
My mind drifts,
my voice trails,
" it's not just a recipe, it's about love."
I answer.
Memories of my grandfather,
a tower of strength,
an inspiration.
In the ghetto he cooked for the enemy,
he smuggled food,
he saved lives.
Sharing what little he had with others,
so they can survive the disease and hunger.
My grandfather was caught,
beaten,
thrown out of a second floor balcony.
He was left to die but he didn't .
He never spoke of his pain,
he carried it within.
He survived the war,
a hero humble and true.
Years later in his sunny kitchen restaurant,
he stood,
varicose veins mapped his legs.
Large hands pounding chicken cutlets,
his strength towering,
not missing a beat.
Cooking with love was his life.
At times on sunny days he seemed grey
and I wondered if the sounds and smells
seeped back in.
I wondered if the echoes remained.
In this moment I look at my son
and I smile,
" it's not the recipe, it's about the love."
Little boy with veins rich with legacies,
filled with pain and courage,
rich with survival of the human spirit.
Generations linked,
legacies left,
love passed through time.




This is dedicated to my grandfather Nathan. He was a hero and a force of nature. He was honest and kind and he fought for what he believed in. He had courage and pride. This is also about my son, asking me about the recipe. His legacies are rich with history. On one side he has a great grandfather that saved a train of children during the Armenian genocide. On My side he has a great grandfather that saved family and friends during the Holocaust. http://dversepoets.com/ Meet us here where we share our thoughts and hearts.