Paddy stops at Rosen's Deli
and orders brisket
on a Kaiser roll, a dab
of horseradish, a new
pickle on the side.
'Latke, too, Sol. Coffee later.
No dinner tonight.
Maggie's not feeling well.
I'll eat here and take a tub
of noodle soup to go.'
Paddy eats and meets Sol
wrestling with his register.
'How's Mrs. Rosen, Sol?
Haven't seen her in
a month of Sundays.'
'Could be cancer, Paddy.
They operate next week.
Things don't look good.
Doc says everything depends
on what they find inside.'
Paddy has no idea what to say.
He knows Minerva Rosen better
than he knows old Sol.
Years ago she handed him
his first new pickle.
'At church tomorrow, Sol,
Maggie and I will pray hard.
I hope to God it works.
At times, praying’s all
anyone can do.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I was searching for a poem to read on Christmas Eve and picked this one out. I don't know why I like it. It's something about the matter-of-fact attention to detail, and that Christmas Eve is there in the background without ever being mentioned. And the words.