How Does My Garden Do? by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Etya's Garden

How Does My Garden Do?

Some say the desert lives beneath Florida’s sidewalks,

all stubborn roots and thirsty dreams.

But I know better. I have a green thumb.

Every morning, when the sun yawns awake,

I step into my garden,

feeling the cool hush of earth through grass and memory.

Here, bromeliads blush like shy dancers,

Moses-in-the-Cradle hides purple secrets in folded leaves,

and the heliconias lift their fiery spears

as if they were guardians of paradise.

The aloe plant, my brave little healer,

pushes up its orange cone of blooms,

a lighthouse against heat and hardship.

Even the cacti, my spined warriors,

don’t hiss at me anymore.

They’ve learned I come in peace.

And tucked between all that wild confidence

are roses.

The only scented flowers I seem able to coax

into happiness.

They are temperamental queens,

but when they perfume the air,

I feel forgiven by everything I’ve ever lost.

This year, though… the heat was merciless.

My flower beds surrendered to weeds

that rose higher than my waist,

a green rebellion laughing at my neglect.

For a moment, just a moment, I wondered

if the garden had given up on me. 

It looked like a jungle. 

My little dachshund refused to go outside,

too scared to brave the tall stalks.

But autumn, even in Florida, brings a small exhale.

Cooler mornings. Second chances.

I roll up my sleeves and wage a gentle war

by pulling and clearing, and

laying down mulch like a soft blanket over wounds

I promised to heal.

In the middle of one of the flower beds,

a pineapple plant, a bromeliad in nature, 

unexpected and unruly, has decided to thrive.

That’s the thing about gardens:

They believe in miracles long before we do.

So how does my garden do?

It grows.

It forgives.

It waits.

And every time I step outside,

hands in the dirt, heart in the work,

It reminds me:

Resilience has roots.

And beauty, once planted, always tries again.

© Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Enjoy other posts by Etya Krichmar HERE.

Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Etya was born in Kazakhstan, a former Soviet republic. In 1977, she, together with her husband and a two-year-old daughter, claimed religious discrimination to escape antisemitism and the clutches of the oppressive totalitarian regime. Etya is retired and lives in Port Saint Lucie, Florida. The Orlando Sentinel and TC Palm newspapers have published her commentaries. She is a Treasured Contributor to MasticadoresUSA. Spillwords Press nominated her story Oh, Mother! for Publication of the Month in July 2023. Her work appeared in the White Rose, Unleashed Creative, and The Write Launch magazines. Her story, Unconditional Love, is part of the Turning Point Anthology. Knocked Sideways Anthology is releasing Not All Jews are Created Equal in the United Kingdom in April 2024. Etya draws inspiration for her stories from her experiences behind the Iron Curtain. She is a Reiki practitioner and an active member of the Florida Writers Association, Life Writers, Memoir Writing Ink, Alumni Café, Pitch to Published, and Athena Sisterhood online Writing Groups. Her website, Etya Writes, can be found at www.etyawrites.com.

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Loved from conception by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

 

Taryn Elliott

Loved from conception

For Jeff

Before I ever saw your face, I carried you around

I heard your heartbeat, felt you move—

You made this mama proud.

Because of this and in spite of that

I loved you from the start

You brought me joy. You caused me pain.

But boredom? Never once

Rebellious you were

Because of this and 

In spite of that

I loved you from the start

I watched you cry

You made me laugh

Emotional you were

Because of this

And in spite of that

I loved you from the start

I held your hand and sang to you

I kissed away your fears

So scared sometimes you were

Because of this

And in spite of that

I loved you from the start

I wiped your tears, hugged you tight

I wanted you to be safe

The last one born, you were

Because of this

And in spite of that

I loved you from the start

Time can’t stand still 

Life goes on

You learned from your mistakes

You taught me patience, dear son

As you became a man

I stand by you and always will

You are my cross to bear

In spite of this

And because of that

I loved you from the start

So slay your dragons

Speak the truth

Continue who you are

I’ll root for you no matter what

You’re my amazing child

Because of this

And in spite of that

I loved you from the start

Always remember...

You’ve always been my heart.

© Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Enjoy other posts by Etya Krichmar HERE.

Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Etya was born in Kazakhstan, a former Soviet republic. In 1977, she, together with her husband and a two-year-old daughter, claimed religious discrimination to escape antisemitism and the clutches of the oppressive totalitarian regime. Etya is retired and lives in Port Saint Lucie, Florida. The Orlando Sentinel and TC Palm newspapers have published her commentaries. She is a Treasured Contributor to MasticadoresUSA. Spillwords Press nominated her story Oh, Mother! for Publication of the Month in July 2023. Her work appeared in the White Rose, Unleashed Creative, and The Write Launch magazines. Her story, Unconditional Love, is part of the Turning Point Anthology. Knocked Sideways Anthology is releasing Not All Jews are Created Equal in the United Kingdom in April 2024. Etya draws inspiration for her stories from her experiences behind the Iron Curtain. She is a Reiki practitioner and an active member of the Florida Writers Association, Life Writers, Memoir Writing Ink, Alumni Café, Pitch to Published, and Athena Sisterhood online Writing Groups. Her website, Etya Writes, can be found at www.etyawrites.com.

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HOLD FAST TO DREAMS by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

 

Ivan Oboleninov

HOLD FAST TO DREAMS

Hold fast to dreams,
Langston Hughes once wrote.
For when dreams go,
Life is a barren field,
Frozen with snow.

Last night, I stood on a stage.

Behind me, celebrities.
Before me, thousands.
And somehow, in the dream,

I knew they were waiting for my words.
Me.
The girl who once had no voice.

My heart pounded.
My knees buckled.
Then I screamed.

“I did not, would not, and will never surrender to victimhood!”

Because I am a Jew.
And I survived the erasure of identity,
The brutality of ideology,
And the silence they tried to force into my bones.

Victimhood?
That word.
I spit it from my tongue like poison.
It is not a life sentence.
Not a stone tablet carved by fate.

It is a moment.
It is a choice.
And I—
I choose to live.
To rise.
To become.

I was born in the USSR,
Under the shadow of the red flag,
Where the Communist Party owned every thought,
Every breath.
A place where being Jewish
was not just a label—
It was a threat.

They tried to cast me in a role.
I refused.
They offered me fear as a future.
I declined.
They expected silence.
Instead, I wrote.

In the darkest corners of that regime,
I clung to light.
To hope.
To the sacred shape of my name
And the strength of my parents’ genes.

And then one day—March 7, 1978—
I stepped onto American soil.
For the first time, I could breathe.

Freedom.
Not just to speak,
But to be.

And I saw something new.
Choices carry consequences.
Freedom is not a gift wrapped in gold,
But a daily act of responsibility.

You cannot blame the world forever.

You cannot bow to comfort and call it courage.

Some wear their struggle like armor,

And others like a badge of entitlement.
But I tell you now—

When you let others define your limits,
 you lock yourself inside a cage built with your own hands.

I believe in aid
But not in chains disguised as charity.
I believe in safety nets
Not spiderwebs.

Because resilience lives not in the hand that waits,
But in the hand that builds.
And I…
I built.

I earned a degree.
I wrote a book.
I told my story
Because silence kills more surely than swords.

And on every page, I echo this:

Hold fast to dreams.

Because when you do
You rise.
You bloom.
You bear fruit.

And maybe that stage wasn’t just a dream.
Maybe that crowd was real—
Maybe it’s you.

If so,
Here is my message,
My offering:

Refuse to bow.
Refuse to be erased.
Refuse to live small.

Dream.
Even if your voice shakes.
Even if your past haunts.
Even if the world tells you no.

Dream,
until your dream
becomes
A world.

© Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Enjoy other posts by Etya Krichmar HERE.

Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Etya was born in Kazakhstan, a former Soviet republic. In 1977, she, together with her husband and a two-year-old daughter, claimed religious discrimination to escape antisemitism and the clutches of the oppressive totalitarian regime. Etya is retired and lives in Port Saint Lucie, Florida. The Orlando Sentinel and TC Palm newspapers have published her commentaries. She is a Treasured Contributor to MasticadoresUSA. Spillwords Press nominated her story Oh, Mother! for Publication of the Month in July 2023. Her work appeared in the White Rose, Unleashed Creative, and The Write Launch magazines. Her story, Unconditional Love, is part of the Turning Point Anthology. Knocked Sideways Anthology is releasing Not All Jews are Created Equal in the United Kingdom in April 2024. Etya draws inspiration for her stories from her experiences behind the Iron Curtain. She is a Reiki practitioner and an active member of the Florida Writers Association, Life Writers, Memoir Writing Ink, Alumni Café, Pitch to Published, and Athena Sisterhood online Writing Groups. Her website, Etya Writes, can be found at www.etyawrites.com.

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