Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2023
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Initiatives
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Calendar
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
LUBA DOESN’T HAVE A MOUSE by DZVINIA ORLOWSKY How dumb of the teacher to assume that we, third graders, imprisoned in so small a classroom every Saturday while other children played, forced by our parents to love the old country we cared little for, had a mouse. It was Luba’s turn to recite a poem. We memorized one a week, out tongues rolling on unfamiliar ground. Seeing her with two braids and thick glasses, a big goof reciting a poem about how the children of Ukraine never forget was too much to ask for, too much to take. We began to make squeak sounds, to break the trance that brought her nearer to the poem’s end. “Luba maye mishkoo,” we droned. Luba has a mouse. We must’ve assumed the teacher was deaf — every day she stood numb before the blackboard, bewildered, the world kneaded into one incomprehensible pile of dough it was her responsibility to unfold and cut into meaningful shapes for us. “Give me the mouse!” She turned a boiled ham pink. Not even Luba’s tears spared us our punishment: one hundred times in seven tenses, “Luba has a mouse.” That morning it look us longer than usual to settle down — to open our books to a map of a county resembling a puddle labelled “bread basket of the world.” Impossible to say whether or not the teacher ever forgave us for stealing the clapper out of the bell. Or if we learned anything — if repeating the past, present, and future one hundred times ever answered the question... Dzvinia Orlowsky was born and raised in the Midwest. She is a graduate of the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers, a contributing editor to Agni and The Boston Literary Review, and a founding editor of Four Way Books. ’’Luba Doesn’t Have a Mouse” is reprinted from Dzvinia Orlowsky: A Handful of Bees by permission of Carnegie Mellon University Press © 1994 by Dzvinia Orlowsky. VERA’S MERINGUE KISSES 6 egg whites 1/4 tablespoon salt 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar 1-1/2 cups sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla 12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate morsels Beat egg whites until frothy. Sprinkle salt and cream of tartar over them. Continue beating until stiff but not dry. Gradually beat in the sugar, adding vanilla with the last of the sugar. Using a spatula, carefully add choco late morsels. Shape by teaspoon in mounds on a baking sheet covered with unglazed paper or foil (shiny side down). Bake at 275 degrees about 40 minutes or until very delicately browned and dry on surface. N O T E : D o n o t b a k e on a h u m id o r ra in y day. 20 ’’НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ", ЛЮТИЙ 1996 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
Page load link
Go to Top