A Letter Found
A letter nearly lost – found byher daughter, amongst Cousin Patty’spapers – a letter writtenFor, but probably not byMy Romanian immigrant grandfather,Michael to his daughterSylvia on August 6, 1926
In a slanted, cursive handHe says, “Dear Sylvia, IReceived your address from IrvingAnd now I am writing toYou a letter. Write meHow you feel. andHow you are getting along asI am very anxious to know.”
He signs it, “Your father, Mr.Goldstein.So formal, cousin JoyceCalls this new, startling discovery, “theMr. Goldstein letter.” We cousinsAnd second cousins, the youngestAlive had never met him.- neverKnew him at all.
In life, a distant man – few fragmentsWe know of him – but theseWords in writing connect usTo our past.- to this ancestorWho gave me my angled jaw, long legsAnd high cheekbones – but whyDid he write this letter? WhatSorrow was he healing for myAunt? Joyce thinks the AuntHad lost a baby.- there wereOthers too.
For my grandfather, that sorrow wasDeep. There were lost children inThe family of Mr. Goldstein – a sonThey called Phillip died of diphtheria –Never mentioned – exceptIn an interview I tapedWith an Uncle. “You’veForgotten something,” Aunt VeraSaid, “there was a son namedPhillip whenThey lived in Albany.”
And there were lost grandchildrenFor Mr. Goldstein. too – RachelWith soft curls – I’ve seen herIn a photo –andGloria who rolled off a bed and…
Death had taken children andGrandchildren from the OldRomanian – near to deathHimself – there was sadnessHidden in the letter – inThe voice I had never heard.
A letter nearly lost – found byher daughter, amongst Cousin Patty’spapers – a letter writtenFor, but probably not byMy Romanian immigrant grandfather,Michael to his daughterSylvia on August 6, 1926
In a slanted, cursive handHe says, “Dear Sylvia, IReceived your address from IrvingAnd now I am writing toYou a letter. Write meHow you feel. andHow you are getting along asI am very anxious to know.”
He signs it, “Your father, Mr.Goldstein.So formal, cousin JoyceCalls this new, startling discovery, “theMr. Goldstein letter.” We cousinsAnd second cousins, the youngestAlive had never met him.- neverKnew him at all.
In life, a distant man – few fragmentsWe know of him – but theseWords in writing connect usTo our past.- to this ancestorWho gave me my angled jaw, long legsAnd high cheekbones – but whyDid he write this letter? WhatSorrow was he healing for myAunt? Joyce thinks the AuntHad lost a baby.- there wereOthers too.
For my grandfather, that sorrow wasDeep. There were lost children inThe family of Mr. Goldstein – a sonThey called Phillip died of diphtheria –Never mentioned – exceptIn an interview I tapedWith an Uncle. “You’veForgotten something,” Aunt VeraSaid, “there was a son namedPhillip whenThey lived in Albany.”
And there were lost grandchildrenFor Mr. Goldstein. too – RachelWith soft curls – I’ve seen herIn a photo –andGloria who rolled off a bed and…
Death had taken children andGrandchildren from the OldRomanian – near to deathHimself – there was sadnessHidden in the letter – inThe voice I had never heard.
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