by Stephanie Kaplan Cohen

This time of year my house in Scarsdale has hot and cold running people, filling up my guest rooms, bar stools, lawn chairs and swimming pool. When I wrote the stories that make up In My Mother’s House, I viewed the family from a child’s point of view. As a child I was concerned for myself and how others related to me. As an adult I have the luxury and torment of observing how each relates to the other ones.

I wrote ‘My Perfect Family’ to capture the spirit of our family dinners, with me at the foot of the table and my husband at the head. When I gaze lovingly at the 16-member tribe we started, I am gratified and amused and anguished.

As a child at the family table, I noticed what was novel -- the ice cubes in the crystal glasses and the huge vase of lilies in the center of the table -- but as an adult, I notice the invisible dynamics of my family members. We are related, which makes us so alike and yet so different.

When I read this poem last month from the Westchester Review (http://www.westchesterreview.com/), a woman rushed up to me and insisted on buying my copy because she wanted to show this poem to her mother. You can see why:

MY PERFECT FAMILY

The world of my family
is the world. Some
don’t like the politics
of some. Some don’t
like the spouses of some.
Some don’t like some.

They gather at my table
and I, the ignorant
know-nothing mother,
grandmother, mother-in-law,
smile, and tell them all
how happy they make me
with their love and devotion
to each other.