For donating their own private spaces, so that I could write without two active, noisy toddlers underfoot, I must thank first and foremost Maia Samuel, but also Andy Behrman, Suze Yalof and Amie Weitzman. Many thanks also to the Columbia Teacher’s College Library, the New York Public Library, the Xando at Seventy-sixth and Broadway, the Starbucks at Eighty-sixth and Columbus and Avenue Restaurant, as well as to all the strangers in those public spaces who, whenever I had to run to the bathroom, agreed to keep an eye on my laptop. But most of all, thanks to Dolly Bisa, for giving me the peace of mind that comes from knowing my two aforementioned active, noisy toddlers would be well cared for, hugged and picked up from school on time in my absence.
For teaching me to love words, I lie prostrate before Tom Gillard; pictures, Christopher James; life, Marjorie and Richard Copaken; motherhood, Jacob and Sasha Kogan.
As for Paul Kogan, my love, my savior—the man who kept pushing me to write down these stories, who supported the family when I decided to finally do it, who tirelessly read every miserable rough draft and weathered every subsequent tantrum—you know how I feel about you. And now, with this extended love poem, so does everyone else.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEBORAH COPAKEN KOGAN lives with her husband and two children in New York City.
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