by Sylvia Ashby

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A Japanese friend said it: “Lived long enough, sad time though.”  Eighty-six years compressed into six words.  A fraction of a haiku for one old Jew, a veritable Yiddish relic in the California sun.  So far from those Lithuanian cobblestones—the wooden hut—the dirt floor—

    white bowl with limas
    boiled and gray as the Baltic
    dinner is ready

Sylvia Ashby’s background is in theatre, acting and writing. She has published 15 plays for family audiences.  After appearance of a short memoir in last spring, she has a few dozen pieces recent or forthcoming in literary journals: Vine Leaves, Mezzo Cammin, Abyss & Apex, From the Depths, et al. She lives in Texas. Read more about her at her personal site.

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