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Safta (Grandma) This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   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.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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