In the dusk
men with sidelocks, wearing hats
and long black coats walked side by side,
hands clasped behind their backs,
talking Yiddish. It was like being in a foreign country.
The members of the family
arrived one by one...
his aunts, his uncle, and his mother
talking about her business
in Venezuela. She had moved to a new building
with enough space and an excellent location.
To their simple, affectionate questions
he returned simple answers.
For how could he explain what it meant to be a writer...
a world that was entirely different,
and yet it would include the sofa
and the smell of chicken cooking.