Ilyusha

My mom calls you Ilyusha, 
and you’re trying to talk to her 
in Russian. 

It’s kind of hilarious, 
a bit strange,
and…heartwarming.

Sometimes I think, 
oh man, what’s going on with my life, 
what is all this? 

But then I hear you teaching Mom 
how to make mafrum over a video call, 
and Mom says, 
“Hold on, Ilyusha, let me jot down 
what you’re saying.” 

I feel at ease and reassured,
as though everything is
perfectly in place.


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