“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.