The following are the front-page cover designs from our three-part series, Year in Review, which featured highlights and reflections from 2023. The designs ran in the print editions for issues dated Jan. 4, 11, and 18, 2024. All designs were created by Brooklyn community editor Christine Stoddard.
• Pigeons are birds that make up the family Columbidae (order Columbiformes)—though not all pigeons are graduates of Columbia University. Some went to NYU.
• The most common pigeon in New York City is the rock dove, or Columbia livia. Some people prefer the term sky rat.
• Doves and pigeons are cousins, with doves generally
Illustration by Christine Stoddard.
being smaller and pigeons bigger. Exception: the white domestic pigeon. You know, the Jesus kind.
• All pigeons strut and bob. It’s not scientifically known if all pigeons boogie.
• Pigeons are monogamous. There is no known dating app for pigeons.
• The mama pigeon lays two eggs at a time in a nest. This is just a plain cute fact. Please don’t try to make it cuter because you will fail.
• The mama and papa pigeon take turns incubating the eggs–Mama at night, Papa during the day. Equality!
• A young pigeon is called a squab or squeaker. You also shouldn’t try to come up with something cuter. Those are cute enough.
• All species of pigeons are edible. It’s up to you to decide if you want to go there.
• Pigeons poop on monuments. This is just known. Ask a toddler. But we needed another fact to fill up this column. That’s how designing on deadline works.
Sources (for the real stuff):
The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica, NYC Parks, Encyclopaedia of Animals: Birds (London: Merehurst Press).
By Christine Stoddard | cstoddard@queensledger.com
This piece was originally printed in our Jan. 18, 2024 edition.
This week, our new community editor, Christine Stoddard, returns with her column “Believe the Hype.”
There’s a relief that comes from writing a show and not having to direct it. Midway through another dress rehearsal, I reminded myself that my work on this production had been done for literal years. I could afford to lose some control. It was time to meet my boyfriend at a digital art installation—whatever that meant. I ran to the stuffy attic lobby of The Tank, where I was met with an anti-climactic wait for the elevator. About two minutes later, I bolted down W. 36th Street and rounded 8th Avenue, elated as a kid playing hooky. I deserved to relax.
A tourist at Shirley Chisholm State Park.
Full of anticipation, I wiggled on the platform. In an effort to shed myself of one more responsibility, I kept myself clueless about Inter_,the venue where I was meeting Aaron. I was even more excited about what would come afterwards. He was taking me “somewhere”—a true surprise.
Fast forward to me bounding through Canal Street, jumping over tarps bursting with knock-off designer purses, nearly running into tables piled with cheap sunglasses and the slow-moving tourists who clogged the sidewalk. I squeezed through the sweaty masses until I saw Aaron outside a stately building, probably a former bank. A wave and a couple of moments later, I was in his arms. We stepped inside and grabbed our 3-D glasses.
Inter_ delivered a dizzying array of lights, animation, and booming narration that I mostly didn’t catch. Something about humanity’s future announced in a British accent.I found myself hunting for glitches in the psychedelic videos and semi-hidden projectors in the motion-activated rooms. Sometime in the glow-in-the-dark alien rainforest room, I chastised myself: Don’t be cynical. Have fun.
We both felt slightly ill stumbling out of Inter_, though I distracted myself with the impending surprise. I showered Aaron with guesses as he led me to the N train and in circles around the station. Usually I was the navigator. We rarely ventured to the Upper East Side, which made the destination tougher to pinpoint, but he said he wouldn’t tell me even if I got it right. Once we found ourselves on the street again, I spotted red boxes swinging in the sky and shouted “Roosevelt Island!” I clapped and hugged him. I had never taken the tram.
We pushed toward the card kiosk and swiped our MTA cards. Five minutes later, the tram arrived, bright, clean, and air-conditioned. Aaron pushed inside to grab us a place by the window. We squished ourselves by a handful of children chattering in Portuguese as the tram ascended the guts of the Queensboro Bridge. As we climbed higher, Aaron beckoned me to peep inside of skyscraper windows. If the offices looked like movie sets, it’s because we were hovering among prime Manhattan real estate—the stuff of American fantasy. The East River sparkled below us. So says the Brooklynite, even Queens looked beautiful with its more modest cityscape glimmering before the waterfront. Aaron beamed at me. I didn’t have to put on a show: I was happy.
Prospect Park After Dark Hike
One way I personally find more peace in my own life is by connecting to nature. Once again, I am not the only one. According to an article published by the University of Minnesota, “How Does Nature Impact Our Wellbeing?,”more than two-thirds of people retreat to nature when stressed. NYC Parks programs a whole calendar of free and low-cost events that you can check out at https://www.nycgovparks.org/events.
Here are three upcoming NYC Parks events in Brooklyn locations that caught my eye (just examples):
Jan. 20: Gather Around the Campfire at Vincent Abate Playground (in McCarren Park), 1:00 p.m.–2:30 p.m. Join the Urban Park Rangers for an afternoon of campfire activities such as stories, songs, and s’mores!
Jan. 20: Prospect Park After Dark Hike at Parkside Avenue and South Lake Drive (in Prospect Park), 4:00 p.m.–5:30 p.m. Join the Urban Park Rangers on a hike after sundown around Prospect Park Lake. You’ll explore and experience the sights and sounds of Prospect Park at night.
Jan. 21: Birding: Winter Waterfowl Super Hike at American Veterans Memorial Pier, Bay Ridge, 10:00 a.m.–11:30 a.m. Join the Urban Park Rangers for a long walk.
Meowzers!
Maybe a more permanent commitment to Mother Earth is what your waning optimism needs. My boyfriend and I look for any excuse to have an animal sighting, playdate, or encounter, but are wary of taking in a pet because of our hectic schedules. (I volunteered at a nature center in high school; I have some sense of the commitment proper animal care entails.) Animal shelters are the first place that come to mind for urban animal care and advocacy. But not all animal rescue organizations are shelters.
Recently, I was reminded of Brooklyn Animal Action, which rescues and rehomes cats and has no physical location. Yep–not a shelter, just doing what many shelters ought to do. This volunteer-run organization is keen on Trap-Neuter-Return programs for managing our local feral cat colonies. Supporters include Brooklyn Veterinary Group, Park Slope Veterinary Center, Vinegar Hill Veterinary Group, and others. If you may want to foster, adopt, volunteer, or donate, go to BrooklynAnimalAction.org for more information. A feline friend may just light up your life.
AmeriCorps in Our Borough
Not everyone is gaga for nature, especially in a concrete jungle like ours. Another way to choose happiness is through service. With Martin Luther King, Jr. Day so recently passed, I would be remiss not to mention volunteering. It is, after all, an official day of service. When I was an AmeriCorps volunteer, MLK Day meant organizing our biggest community service event of the year (preparing and hosting lunch at a homeless shelter in my college town.) AmeriCorps is a federally run government program that trains and places volunteers across the country. But you don’t have to go anywhere! Many AmeriCorps decide to serve right at home, like I did. AmeriCorps State and National programs exist in a variety of fields. While I volunteered at a public elementary school, other AmeriCorps volunteers serve in clinics, youth programs, financial literacy programs, senior citizen centers, and, yes, parks and nature centers. One of my college classmates did AmeriCorps at Shirley Chisholm State Park! AmeriCorps benefits include a modest living allowance, scholarships, loan deferment, interest forbearance, and alumni network, and more. Find out more at AmeriCorps.gov.
May your hopes for the rest of the month and year remain bright (or get brighter) in however you choose happiness.
For news and tips, please email brooklyndtstar@gmail.com.
The following piece was originally printed in our Jan. 11, 2024 edition.
This week, our new Brooklyn community editor, Christine Stoddard, returns with her column “Believe the Hype.” Send your comments, questions, and tips to brooklyndtstarnews@gmail.com.
On this page, you will find a photo of my former neighbor Christina, dated from 2018. I use the term “neighbor” loosely. Christina lived a few blocks away from me when I called Howard Avenue, just south of Atlantic, my home. At the time, I was walking through Bedford-Stuyvesant, Crown Heights, and Brownsville to take posed portraits of people I encountered. The cityscape served as our set. We always exchanged a few words, sometimes going into longer conversations if it flowed naturally. I was curious about folks’ experiences and how we co-existed in Central and East Brooklyn, despite living totally separate lives. Every apartment building or brownstone is a microcosm; bodegas occupy parallel universes. A city park contains galaxies upon galaxies.
A photo the columnist took in 2018 of a neighbor.
Resumed Mask Mandate at NYC Public Hospitals
Though the COVID pandemic has ended, the coronavirus remains with us. As of Jan. 3rd, the mask mandate has resumed at all 11 of New York City’s public hospitals due to a rise in not only COVID but flu and respiratory syncytial (RSV) cases. The mandate applies to NYC Health + Hospitals’ health clinics and nursing homes, too. A COVID surge may inspire any number of reactions: ambivalence, disbelief, fear, frustration, sadness. When I first learned about the reinstated mask mandate, I mentally transported myself to March 2020, back to that apartment on Howard Avenue, and that crippling feeling of isolation. Even next door neighbors were suddenly off-limits. I had to abandon my neighborhood photo project, or at least put it on hold.
Eventually, as we all know, the city reopened, but, as we also all know, it is not the same city we knew in 2019 or even early 2020. What I miss most are the abundance of casual, sometimes heart-warming, hilarious, or incredible encounters that can only happen in a big city like ours. In suburbs and rural areas, people are simply too spread out from one another. There is far less foot traffic (or perhaps none at all). Have you ever been to a small town with no sidewalks? Having lived in different parts of Virginia and Iowa, I have…and it is creepy.
Outside of a metropolis, stand-alone houses and cars silo neighbors from one another. You may have a bigger lawn, but it is unlikely you will meet interesting strangers on the bus or witness unexpected acts of kindness from someone you just met.
Vendor Ban on Brooklyn Bridge
New Yorkers’ appreciation for synchronicity is probably one of the reasons so many people are upset about the vendor ban at the Brooklyn Bridge. The city ban went into effect on Jan. 2, with the Department of Transportation employees and NYPD officers clearing tables and carts at the stroke of midnight. No more souvenir tables. No more pop-up photo booths. No more kebabs. According to Mayor Adams, this ban is necessary for improving pedestrian traffic and safety. Last fall, more than 34,000 pedestrians visited the bridge on an average weekend.
Not everyone agrees that the vendors should go. Currently, New York City Council member Gale Brewer (District 6, Manhattan) is working on legislation to create a designated space for vendors. I, for one, am intrigued by this possibility and hope for a solution that promotes street life without allowing a circus to take hold.
Abolitionist Plaza
While there’s debate on how we ought to use our public spaces, one thing is certain here in Brooklyn: We have them–and, according to the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership’s 2023 Year-in-Review report, there are more on the way. In July, the mayor announced that more than $40 million would be invested in Downtown Brooklyn for streetscape improvements, public space and transportation upgrades, and pedestrian safety enhancements. That includes $8 million in dedicated funding for the Fulton Mall Streetscape.
Also mentioned in the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership report was Abolitionist Plaza, which I am waiting for with bated breath. Slated to open in Spring 2024, the 1.15 acre space between Duffield Street and Albee Square West promises “a children’s play area, waterplay feature, lawn space, a dog run, multiple seating areas, and more.” It’s hard not to raise an eyebrow at “and more,” but let’s check it a few months (fingers crossed) to see what we find. Or at least I will!
By GOODW.Y.N. | news@queensledger.com
When I think of MLK, I do not think about what most would consider. Him gallant and proud on in front of the Washington Monument, that day a magnificent assembly gathered to hear him, and many others speak on behalf of not only a segregation-free nation, but a future without systemic racism dividing all humanity. Fast forward through time and you find me as a young girl in Bed-Stuy, walking in a two-lined collection of fellow students on an “unauthorized” trip to Boys & Girls High School—for my 3rd Grade teacher Ms. Walls never sent in a permission slip for us to take home, nor did she even mention that the trip was bound to happen on such and such day and time and we should inform our folks of it. No, this “trip” was actually my first “walk out.” It was a march against the apartheid happening in South Africa. This act was my first taste of radical Pan-Africanism activism—a concept that united all of the African descendants across the globe into one body, one mind, one spirit with one future in mind: freedom for all.
My biological family, who were poor in pocket but also in philosophy either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand how Pan-Africanism related to MLK’s struggle for them and their children’s children, or why it was a necessary deed for us the children of the “lost era,” being swallowed by, urban decay, the War on Drugs (which really was more the war on Black Americans) and every fashion of anti-Blackness there was to throw at a culture: political, economic, social, constructional, you name it we the eighties babies had to not only face it, but swallow it as we tried to dig our way out nail-and-teeth of America’s poverty grave.
And now like an angry “hell-mouth,” we are looking down at the barrel of destruction yet again. I often think now how uninformed we were back then of Palestine’s plight—the conditions of apartheid they were living under back then, and how if we had marched for them as well as South Africa, we might actually be living in an apartheid free future right now. And more importantly from my perspective as a native New Yorker, the Brooklyn of the past—the Brooklyn of pre-gentrification, the Brooklyn that struggled and screamed “We here! We ready!” would still be “presente.” That Brooklyn, its gold-fronted mouth is silenced more and more with each passing day, with each political pen-stroke and budget cut, with each forced move out, and striking affordable housing plan. I pray that this only makes the children more ungovernable and even more determined to spit in the eye of those who dared condescend.
I know so many of us believe that these changes were for the best. But I believe in something greater than that. I believe in the Christopher Wallace/Biggie Smalls swan song that was shouted out throughout the projects of Brooklyn “It was all a dream…” echoing into the empty streets of the borough during those bleak early days of the pandemic. In that moment, I believed that when MLK stated that “You don’t have to have a college degree to serve,” that he meant them, those people, their voices were giving over to the higher power in the Universe in order to enrich all of our lives and we must humble ourselves to that in which can transform the tides of sorrow, into currents of triumph.
A few weeks ago, numerous protestors took to the streets yet again in the name of solidarity for Palestine Others are coming forward in the names of other Black and Brown filled nations that are in turmoil around the world. I am disabled can’t go to the marches like I used to. But I use my works, my art to create space for dialogue, my writing to grow empathy and perspective, my voice to shout out against evil instead of making the mistake of joining it again. I try so hard to resurrect Brooklyn that stood in the face of tyranny so many years ago. But I don’t dream about the “blanket” handholding ending of the Washington Monument anymore. This time, I allow my works to perform action. And with this broken body I still serve on my feet. I take those lessons from Bed-Stuy to the heart, wherever I go.
-GOODW.Y.N.
By Christine Stoddard | cstoddard@queensledger.com
Illustration by Christine Stoddard.
More wild animals die during the winter than any time of year. So what do you do with a dead animal if you spot one in public in any of the five boroughs? According to 311, the official website of the City of New York, here’s the action you should take:
• Call 911 if a dead animal is blocking traffic. For a dead animal that is not posing a threat to traffic, call 311 or 212-639-9675 for assistance.
• Contact the Department of Sanitation (DSNY) if you find the dead animal on the street or sidewalk. There is a form on the 311 website at portal.311.nyc.gov.
• For a dead animal sighting in a city park or public beach, report your complaint to the Department of Parks and Recreation, also through the 311 website. For a dead animal in a New York State or federal park, contact the park directly.
• To report large groups of dead fish in a body of water, call the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, Local Fish and Wildlife Division, at (631) 444-0714 during business hours.
• To report a cluster of dead birds, call the Department of Health and Mental Hygiene (DOHMH), call 311 or 212-NEW-YORK (212-639-9675) for help. This includes 3 dead geese, swans, ducks, chickens, or turkeys, or 10 or more of other types of birds. Some of the birds may be collected for West Nile Virus testing.
• The New York Police Department Harbor Unit will respond to reports of dead animals other than birds and fish spotted in large bodies of water, such as a river or bay. Call 311 or 212-NEW-YORK (212-639-9675) for help.
By Brandon Perdomo | news@queensledger.com
“Angeline Butler” by Brandon Perdomo, Studio Birdhaus, 2023
The following excerpt is from a previously unpublished Oral History interview with Professor Angline Butler, an educator, musical performer, actor, playwright, and Civil Rights activist. Butler was an original organizer for the Nashville Sit-Ins, the Freedom Rides, and the March on Washington. Angeline was also a founding member of the Student Nonviolent Coordination Committee (SNCC), and currently teaches at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.
Brandon Perdomo, Interviewer [Brooklyn]
Angeline Butler, Narrator [Manhattan]
Transcription by Mx. Sugar Mamasota
Produced by Studio Birdhaus
Interview conducted via ZOOM
November 20, 2020
“Jackie Robinson was my mentor, when I first went to New York. Because of what I had done in Miami — I had gone to jail—back in the—summer of 1960, in ‘round July, 1960. And Jackie Robinson came down there and he—more or less, was responsible for the verdict that they gave us, which was “ejection of undesirable guests”, which was a mandatory sentence of six months in jail, for 13 of us, who had gotten arrested at Shell’s City in Miami. But we went down there to desegregate Miami, through the Congress on Racial Equality and James Farmer was the person who was head of—CORE at that time and he was the one that was sponsoring—the CORE Summer Institute. And he invited John Lewis, Bernard Lafayette, and me—we were the representatives from Nashville, student movement—Priscilla Stephens and Patricia Stephens, and a number of other students from Florida, were the people from Tallahassee, movement—that was a very prominent movement as well—I think it was Florida A&M University.
And so, basically 13 of us got arrested, sitting in a Shell’s City, on the second day that we sat in, and now they charged us with the ejection of undesirable guests, then they put us in the 23rd floor of the Dade County Jail! [laughs] In Miami!
Dade County jail that had a premium view of the oceans, [laughs] and Miami Beach—the whole number. And we’re sleeping in bunk beds up there. And, one day, while we’re waiting, our trial, about 20 days, or so—Jackie Robinson comes to see how we’re doing. And he can’t come into the cell. But we meet him through an octagonal window. And I can’t believe that Jackie Robinson, the person who my father, Reverend Butler, always idolized and we always listened to those Dodger games, is there, coming to see about me. So my friendship with Jackie Robinson begins there.
And after—we’re tried, and Jackie Robinson brought diplomats from different African—consulates, from the UN—the Ghana consulate, the Nigerian consulate. And they sat in our courtroom in African paramount chiefs’ ropes, and they embarrass the hell out of that old judge. And so what they gave us was, one year non-reporting probation, with no adjudication, provided we didn’t get arrested again [laughs], in Florida!
Now, that was okay for Angeline Butler, — Lowery, and for Dorothy Miller [Zellner], who were going to go back to—Nashville, or John Lewis, and— Bernard Lafayette—I’m gonna go back to Nashville and go back to New York and go back from wherever, because we were from all over the country. And wasn’t all right for Patricia and Priscilla Stephens, who were going to go back in the fall and lead the movement, you understand [laughs]—and get arrested again. They had already been in jail. They were in jail for like, I think—49 days, and eventually, they had a fast going on for 30 days. And they finally let ‘em out of jail because they didn’t want the students to starve to death! You know! But that was a sit-ins, you know, in 1960.
But anyway, so, I’m meeting all these prominent people, you know, as a result of me having been a part of that movement. And so, soon as we get out of jail, we didn’t go home! We went to New York, because Jackie had organized a fundraiser. And the fundraiser was to help, you know, legal funding of students who were arrested in the south. And he started by, him and Marian [Bruce] Logan—they were in each other’s house with a group of people. And they started giving $10 each, to a fund—and so now Jackie decided to have a concert, where he—organized it on his lawn, which overlooked the river, there. And it was the first concert that they gave, and his wife, Rachel, made these little red aprons that we had to walk around in—those of us who came up from—Miami CORE—that was Priscilla, Patricia, and myself. And, of course, there were a number of other white students that were there with us. And—we drove up, you know, from the South in cars, which also meant that we had a problem going to the bathroom and this kind of stuff [laughs] you know what I’m saying! Needed places to go on the way up to New York! That’s another story. Anyway [laughs] but the point is, we got to New York, and then Jackie found us a place to stay, through friends. And Priscilla got an apartment in Greenwich Village. And we all stayed in her place. And then—so we up at—his house on the lawn, fundraising with these little red aprons on. And now the artists that are there that day are Nancy Wilson, Cannonball Adderley, Joe Williams is there. We meet all these—top jazz people that day. You know, we have Paul Desmond up there. Of course, I knew Paul Desmond before, you know, that was one of my mentors too—okay. Through the Civil Rights Movement.”
Read the full interview at www.studiobirdhaus.org on February 1, 2024.
Brandon Perdomo is an artist from Great Kills, Staten Island. His work in public & oral history interviewing as a social practice provokes a reclamation of narrative power, featuring narratives concerning “/testimonyofthebody” through interdisciplinary storytelling, with focus towards interrogations of race, place, and history, and sexuality and gender. Studio Birdhaus is the creative studio of Brandon Perdomo. Contact Perdomo at b@studiobirdhaus.org for more info.
By Christine Stoddard | cstoddard@queensledger.com
The following was first printed in the Jan. 11, 2024 issue of the newspaper:
Photo by Christine Stoddard.
Though the Winter Lantern Festival at the Queens County Farm Museum ended its season on Jan. 7, this illuminated holiday wonder deserves memorializing. At times beautiful, adorable, and even humorous, the Winter Lantern Festival featured more than 1,000 handmade lanterns inspired by the traditional Chinese style. Each lantern was made using Chinese silk, paint, wire, and LEDs. Some of them even moved! More than 150,000 visitors flocked to the attraction for its fourth year. The most impressive lantern, at least in size, was a humongous Chinese dragon that spanned the length of this outdoor feast for the eyes. Meanwhile, the site for the festival is also unique: The Queens County Farm Museum is the largest undisturbed farmland in New York City.
Photo by Christine Stoddard.
If you missed your chance to go to the Winter Lantern Festival this year, hope it returns in December 2024 and maybe be faster about grabbing tickets next time. It’s the premiere Chinese lantern festival in New York City. Though a smaller version has graced the Bronx Zoo, a festival of comparable size is a bit of a hike—in Philadelphia. (And it doesn’t run during the holidays.)
Photo by Christine Stoddard.
The following was printed in the Jan. 4, 2024 edition of the newspaper:
In December 2023, the New York Times Magazine announced that it was ending its poetry feature after nine years. We asked Brooklynites to submit their poems about Brooklyn to be published here.
Do you have some verse about our borough you would like to share? Send it to brooklyndtstarnews@gmail.com. Please include your name as you would like it to appear, as well as a 2-3 sentence bio and any acknowledgements of where your submitted poems may have previously appeared. Submitting your material does not guarantee it will be published. Please note that all poems will be printed centered due to the formatting of our newspaper.
This week, our featured poets are Melissa Eeftherion and Lesléa Newman.
Ode to a Fire Hydrant in Bensonhurst
By Melissa Eeftherion
(previously published in Ovunque Siamo)
O johnny-pump –
You wear your gushing heart like a sieve
How you adorned us street kids
With relief from the
volcanic pavement
How you lifted us into
your arms as though
we were loved.
gutter maps
By Melissa Eeftherion
(previously published in Lunch Ticket)
ocean ellipsis mouth
we catch ourselves
a grumble in the time gap
maw’s energetic swallow
her beast, her quickening
where were all the murderous
bowlegged dangers i avoided
rollerskating down Mermaid Avenue
back when tides washed the back legs of youth’s agency
there in the subatomic catacomb
an organism of prisms
sold in the back junk shops
i washed my poverty in anonymous
erotic paperbacks i washed
my ideas about poverty through
the camera’s ground glass
the smiling was a circle
i swung to – the sun
beat the boardwalk and its
nostalgic catastrophe of magics
a map of gaslight gutter
rainbows i followed to the sea
Melissa Eleftherion (she/they) is a writer, a librarian, and a visual artist. Born and raised in Brooklyn, she is the author of field guide to autobiography (The Operating System, 2018), gutter rainbows (Querencia Press, 2024), & 12 chapbooks from various presses. Melissa currently lives in Northern California where she manages the Ukiah Branch Library, curates the LOBA Reading Series, & serves as Ukiah Poet Laureate Emeritus.
Ode to a Knish Shop
By Lesléa Newman
(from Lovely)
Mrs. Stahl’s sold kasha knishes,
Oy gevalt, were they delicious!
To eat one was to have a feast
for each one weighed a pound at least.
When I was young, they cost a nickel
(cheaper than a kosher pickle).
In Brighton Beach, beneath the el
seduced by that arresting smell,
I’d take the last place in the queue
on Coney Island Avenue
then perch upon a worn red stool
and try my hardest not to drool
as I watched Mrs. Stahl herself
pluck knishes from a metal shelf.
She served them piping hot with pride
(the sign outside bragged “Baked Not Fried”).
The pastry, bigger than my fist
caressed my tongue, like being kissed.
So savory, so plump, so sweet,
that knish knocked me right off my feet.
The outside dough was parchment-thin
yet strong enough to hold within
buckwheat groats that smelled of earth
and added inches to my girth.
But in those days I didn’t care
a whit about my derrière.
That kasha knish was heaven-sent,
no nickel ever better spent.
Brighton Beach
By Lesléa Newman
(from Signs of Love)
On summer nights after the sand and sea salt
were scrubbed out of every inch of me
I’d lie on the couch in a baby blue nightie,
feet tucked under
wet hair streaming down my back,
listening to my mother
frying something in the kitchen
and my father singing in the shower
as the rest of the world disappeared
into the descending darkness
that surrounded us all safely
as the blanket tucked up to my chin
when I’d lie in my bed with a full belly
lulled by the murmur of grownup voices
rising and falling like waves
while I dreamed of floating on my back
in the steel blue space between ocean and sky
first love
By Lesléa Newman
(from Nobody’s Mother, Orchard House Press)
At fourteen my mother cuts a sharp
figure: in sleeveless white blouse,
denim pedal pushers, black sneakers
and no socks, she is already tougher
than the overcooked meat
she refuses to eat
when my grandmother
pushes it toward her every night.
“Take a bite. So stubborn you are,”
my grandmother shrieks, throwing up
her hands in disgust at her daughter
who—is it possible?— is even more
impossible than she was as a child.
But now hours remain
before supper, the sun still high
in the sky an unblinking eye
that can’t see my mother hidden
behind the brick apartment building
she calls home along with half
of Brooklyn. Or so it seems.
My grandmother who has eyes
in the back of her head
can’t see her either. This secret
place is my mother’s room
of her own. She leans against
cool brick, the scratchy hardness
a comfort to her bare arm
and lights up the first cigarette
of her life. It tastes good
this forbidden bitterness
this sweet piece of heat
held between two fingers
slender as the long white stem
of chalk her French teacher
slashes across the board
to show my mother where to put
her lousy Brooklyn accent. No namby-pamby
goody goody Mademoiselle, my mother
inhales like a pro, exhales with a sigh
of deep satisfaction like someone
languishing in bed, someone who doesn’t
have homework to do, dishes to wash,
a mother to ignore, a life
to escape. It’s love at first
puff, this Chesterfield King
and my tough little mother.
She tries blowing a smoke ring,
succeeds, watches it vanish
into thin air, wishes she could
follow. Inhales again, lets smoke
stream out of both nostrils
like the fire-breathing dragon
in a story book she read
long ago when she was a child.
Takes another drag, blows it out
retreats behind a cloud
of blue-grey smoke that softens
the world in front of her burning
eyes. Keeps going until she is down
to a nub, stubs it out underfoot
instantly lights up another, thinks:
all right, I can do this. And does.
Lesléa Newman has created 85 books for readers of all ages including the dual memoir-in-verse, I Carry My Mother and I Wish My Father, the novel-in-verse, October Mourning: A Song for Matthew Shepard, and Always Matt: A Tribute to Matthew Shepard. She has received poetry fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Massachusetts Artists Foundation. From 2008-2010, she served as the poet laureate of Northampton, MA.
By Christine Stoddard | cstoddard@queensledger.com
The following was printed in the Jan. 4, 2024 edition of the paper:
© Christine Stoddard
Monday, Jan. 1: New Year’s Day
Saturday, Jan. 6: Three Kings’ Day
Monday, Jan. 15: Martin Luther King Day
Friday, Feb. 9: Lunar New Year’s Eve
Saturday, Feb. 10: Lunar New Year
Monday, Feb. 12: Lincoln’s Birthday
Wednesday, Feb. 14: Ash Wednesday
Monday, Feb. 19: Washington’s Birthday (President’s Day)
Sunday, March 24: Purim
Thursday, March 28: Holy Thursday
Friday, March 29: Good Friday
Wednesday, April 10 and Thursday, April 11: Idul-Fitr (Eid Al-Fitr)
Tuesday, April 23, and Wednesday, April. 24: Passover
Monday, April 29 and Tuesday, April 30: Passover (7th/8th Days)
Thursday, May 2: Holy Thursday (Orthodox)
Friday, May 3: Good Friday (Orthodox)
Thursday, May 9: Solemnit of the Ascension
Monday, May 27: Memorial Day
Wednesday, June 12, and Thursday, June 13: Shavuoth (2 Days)
Monday, June 17, and Tuesday, June 18: Idul-Adha (Eid Al-Adha)
Wednesday, June 19: Juneteenth
Thursday, July 4: Independence Day
Tuesday, Aug. 13: Tisha B’Av
Thursday, Aug. 15: Feast of the Assumption
Monday, Sept. 2: Labor Day
Thursday, Oct. 3, and Friday, Oct. 4: Rosh Hashanah
Saturday, Oct. 12: Yom Kippur
Monday, Oct. 14: Columbus Day
Thursday, Oct. 17 and Friday, Oct. 18: Succoth (2 Days)
Thursday, Oct. 24: Shemini Atzereth
Friday, Oct. 25: Simchas Torah
Friday, Nov. 1: Diwali and All Saint’s Day
Tuesday, Nov. 5: Election Day
Monday, Nov. 11: Veterans Day
Thursday, Nov. 28: Thanksgiving Day
Monday, Dec. 9: Immaculate Conception
Wednesday, Dec. 25: Christmas Day
