Tuesday, June 25, 2024

I open the bedroom window, and feel warm spring air coming in, blowing gently into my face, which feels like a promise

Next morning I’m sent home empty-handed, while my baby must stay at the hospital a few more days, to get something called colored light therapy, ‘cause like, he’s been diagnosed with jaundice. But does anyone care? Hello there? I try to call home, for Lenny to come pick me up—but as usual I end up just managing, somehow, to get back on my own. 

I open the bedroom window, and feel warm spring air coming in, blowing gently into my face, which feels like a promise. Like, it’s gonna be good. It’s gonna be a beautiful day. 

I rewind the musical mobile, and listen to it chiming, chiming, chiming over my head for a long while. And there I stand listening, not knowing what to do, not wanting to admit to myself how I feel. Anyhow I’m glad you can’t see me sniffling, and blotting the corner of my eye, ‘cause like, there isn’t no one here I can hug, and no one to hug me right back.

Lenny isn’t back yet, and neither is Ben. The place seems kinda empty to me—more so than usual—like a spirit has left it, on account of the piano, which is gone, and the shattered mirror. And it’s messy, because of the glass, which is strewn all around me, crushing underfoot as I move around the floor, until finally I stomp off to the corridor. 

Then I’m empty. Exhausted. Can’t bring myself to hold a broom straight, like, to sweep away all them broken pieces. In a daze I wander into Ben’s bedroom, and within moments I’m asleep in his bed.

When I open my eyes again, it’s already the next morning. 

I wake up to a sound, an annoying sound of knocks at the door, and a sudden fear squeezes my heart as I open it, to find two grim-faced cops. It almost feels like I’ve read this story before.

When they hesitate to say, like, what they’ve come in to say, I make up my mind I ain’t gonna scream. Instead I stick my thumbs in my ears, ‘cause I don’t want to hear, don’t want to learn that my husband’s been found lifeless. And for sure I don’t want to be asked no questions, ‘cause like, I don’t hardly have answers. 

I cup the palms of my hands over my eyes, ‘cause I don’t want to see the snapshots they’re trying to show me, which was taken right there at the scene, snapshots that show him lying there, curled, in Natasha’s arms. How he got there, no one seems to know—not even them cops. They want me to tell them, like, how it happened.

So in spite of myself I can’t help peeking, between one finger and another, only to find that in some of them pictures, his face muscles seem awful relaxed. I bet it’s just a trick of the camera, some flash, which makes him look like he’s laughing, almost—even though the crease on his forehead hasn’t barely smoothed up.

Which reminds me of my pa, who left me such a long time ago, that I can’t remember nothing of his face no more, I mean, nothing but a crease just like this, in the middle of his forehead. And even that’s turning into a blur now. I swear, it’s because of them tears. Damn, I miss him. I miss him so

No, Lenny. I ain’t gonna cry.

My Own Voice

Paperback  Hardcover 


Falling in love with Lenny should have been the end to all of Anita's troubles. 

For her, it's only the beginning, when family secrets start unravelling. His ex-wife, Natasha, is succumbing to a mysterious disease. How can Anita compete with her shadow? How can she find a voice of her own?

And when his estranged son, Ben, comes back and lives in the same small apartment, can she keep the balance between the two men, whose desire for her is marred by guilt and blame?

★★★★★ "A creative, gripping and deeply moving tale of a young girl coming of age in unfathomable emotional circumstances."

Sunday, June 23, 2024


 I'm touched by this review by author and poet M. M. Bishop, for my short story A Favorite Son:

Reviewed in the United States on June 14, 2024

I adore the way Uvi Poznansky is able to retell an ancient Bible tale in such a way as to draw the reader not only back into the past, but show how little we as humans have changed. The sibling rivalry is sparked by the favoritism is of each parents favoring different twin.

Her writing flows from her pen as if one was drawing fine silk through one’s fingers for the first time.

Ms. Poznansky, has a smooth voice packed with the delicacy of a fine prose, all the while pulling you deeper into an age-old tale told with a bit of a modern twist.

Few people can keep one enthralled throughout a story that dwells on so delicate of a subject, the greed, jealousy, and envy of family dynamics, and make you almost feel as if you were watching it unfold in front of your eyes. The tale of the rivalry of Yankle and Esav, the twin sons of Rebecca and Isaac of the old testament is done with a masterful pen. Ms. Poznansky’s description, and the retelling of this tale beautifully rendered. I love the way she put a modern twist on an old story.