Safta (Grandma) MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   As I walk to the apartment,

the smell carries me in,

the fresh aroma of the soup,

with some carrots,

and most important, the chicken.

Then I spot the fresh noodles,

and think of them drying in the hot sun

of Israel, where she once lived.

Her presence was sacred;

I wish that

she was still here.

My favorite grandma,

up above.

As I think of her every day,

the chicken soup memories arise,

and I feel her near me,

watching with her brown eyes.

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i love this so much!


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