September 2016
I am an Associate Professor of English at Erie Community College North in Buffalo, N.Y. I have 5 books, 2 chapbooks, and 1 CD of poetry. I am married to Maria Sebastian, a well-known singer/songwriter, and we perform our poetry and music together at many venues in the WNY area. For more information please visit my website: www.perrynicholas.com
Baking Greek Cookies
My mother rolled the koulourakia softly,
between the rough palms of her hands,
kneading her two distinct lives.
Pushing gently, she formed her small island,
then pressed more firmly as she worked
her second life into shapes of larger States.
Even when she was a girl, so poor
she made up games with a stick, a can,
and a crippled cousin, she dreamed split worlds.
Things would be better over there—
it was America, for God’s sake—
and love along with fortune could be
discovered, or at least easily learned.
My mother baked the koulourakia slowly,
watched her dreams rise into one sweet twist.
Baking Greek Cookies
My mother rolled the koulourakia softly,
between the rough palms of her hands,
kneading her two distinct lives.
Pushing gently, she formed her small island,
then pressed more firmly as she worked
her second life into shapes of larger States.
Even when she was a girl, so poor
she made up games with a stick, a can,
and a crippled cousin, she dreamed split worlds.
Things would be better over there—
it was America, for God’s sake—
and love along with fortune could be
discovered, or at least easily learned.
My mother baked the koulourakia slowly,
watched her dreams rise into one sweet twist.
Greek Alphabet Soup
Alpha, beta, gamma, delta…
We couldn’t wait to escape
that Saturday morning Greek class,
steal away to Mike’s Submarines,
then down to Johnny’s pool hall.
Mrs. Pappas, the old crone,
chased us down the dark halls
through the wooden doors into sunlight,
screaming words in Greek
they didn’t teach us in class.
Greek school, in the church basement,
seemed more a dungeon to us,
hungry Americanized boys.
We sought out sandwiches
and hot soup, then jumped
on the last bus home, lied to our parents
about all we had learned.
Ta paidiá agapoún soúpa;
The children love soup.
Alpha, beta, gamma, delta…
Alpha, beta, gamma, delta…
We couldn’t wait to escape
that Saturday morning Greek class,
steal away to Mike’s Submarines,
then down to Johnny’s pool hall.
Mrs. Pappas, the old crone,
chased us down the dark halls
through the wooden doors into sunlight,
screaming words in Greek
they didn’t teach us in class.
Greek school, in the church basement,
seemed more a dungeon to us,
hungry Americanized boys.
We sought out sandwiches
and hot soup, then jumped
on the last bus home, lied to our parents
about all we had learned.
Ta paidiá agapoún soúpa;
The children love soup.
Alpha, beta, gamma, delta…
©2016 Perry S. Nicholas
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