The Jewish Aunts by Connor Kaplan

The Jewish Aunts By: Connor Kaplan

I find it intriguing when they are near

squawking endlessly until dinner

like a flock of parrots sitting around,

may it be food or what their child has done

or even how their occupation is,

and all bring the feeling of well lit fire.

Each one very different in their own.

one makes brisket, another decorates,

a few can talk forever, one quiet.

 Yet all want to leave on their own schedule,

telling their children and husbands to leave,

only to stop and continue another talk.

Every year it feels like déjà vu

the smells of cinnamon fill the whole house,

along with more deserts than I can eat.

Talk of sports, fashion,  and other gibberish

make the large house feel very comforting,

while the moms finish the food kids play

games with tops and golden covered chocolate

As the years pass and the children age,

and some move away chasing the future

the gatherings of family and friends

become rare but there is still nights like this.

Special days like Chanukah and Passover

bring us back to one house, one special location.

For nights like these I cherish and adore,

and it is all because of moms or Aunts,

as they too adore the rare get-togethers,

and they make sure the house feels like warmth.

The Aunts

By Joyce Sutphen

I like it when they get together

and talk in voices that sound

like apple trees and grape vines,

and some of them wear hats

and go to Arizona in the winter,

and they all like to play cards.

They will always be the ones

who say “It is time to go now,”

even as we linger at the door,

or stand by the waiting cars, they

remember someone—an uncle we

never knew—and sigh, all

of them together, like wind

in the oak trees behind the farm

where they grew up—a place

I remember—especially

the hen house and the soft

clucking that filled the sunlit yard.