“Is it well that the dead shall be remembered,
And the Ark and the Tablets forgotten?”
Yes, Jehuda, I would rather recall
the business cards of my father’s
used car lot than the five books
and all their commentaries, the recipe
of my grandmother’s kuchin than
the Kabbalah and its interpretations,
her delicate matzo balls than all
of the much-sought-after mystical
masterpieces. I would rather discover
the dandruff of my dead friend’s dark
hair than the inscribed stones Moses
bloodied his flesh—twice—to attain.
Because I am nothing without them,
whose words accent my speech,
whose motions choreograph my gestures—
dreamstuff are my dead, demanding
my devotion—yes, Jehuda,
it is well they shall be remembered,
their names the undertone whenever
my own name is called, their ghost-souls
more present than this corporeal furniture
of the world which, like the ark and tablets,
hold their form in bodies of beauty
then dissolve, indistinguishable from the dust.
From Rabbis of the Air by Philip Terman. Used by permission of the poet and Autumn House Press. Copyright © 2007 by Philip Terman.