Riding the Waves

I remember when my bubby taught me to ride the waves
It’s a mechaye, she would say, Yiddish for pleasure
Laughing, holding my hands
I would forget the trouble at home and laugh with her
She knew ― most of her children had married badly
If you know what I mean
Her grandchildren consequently sad angry listless
On sleepovers she would give me a nickel and send me to the grocer across the alley to buy rolls for breakfast, crusty Kaiser rolls like the ones she’d loved in the old country
And I’d feel so grown up, so trustworthy and loved
Breakfast would be grand, slabs of butter on the bread, a hardboiled egg
Coffee for her
Milk from the icebox in the backyard for me
Sleepovers with my bubby, days at the beach with her
Were counterpoints to sorrow
Who knew they were preparing me for forgiveness
For rising above the past
Forging ahead to joy
Like riding the waves with an invisible hand
To prop me