“A dialogue with death” & “Cortege”

→ PUBLISHED IN ISSUE NO. 33: FALL/WINTER 2024

A dialogue with death

Death stops at my table
rests his chair against the pepper shaker
stoops to adjust a sandal strap.

You’ve been greedy lately, I tell him.
Four friends since February.
His eyes are welded to the floor

though there’s a subtle quiver
in his hand, white-knuckling
his key ring.

I did bring you a new grandson
he parries, resting a gnarled finger
on the scale of my complaint.

Three felines this year, I kvetch,
some not all that old.
But thanks for taking care

of the attic rats.
I did it with fruit spray, he says.
No toxins in your house.

Rats in Frats, I mumble.
Now that things are quiet,
I miss the keggers.

It’s all practice, he smiles
for—well, you know.
How’s your back float?

---

Cortege

The somber synagogue is no place
for my elfin father. I picture glee
inflating his face like helium.
The white pine box looms huge.
Bent men stoop, wrapped in tallises
like serape-bound women.

This day should be a carnival
for a man who oozed mischief.
I might have worn my long red skirt
waited for him to throw off the lid
look death in the eye and
mouth his usual refrain:
let’s get this show on the road.

A Darth Vader hearse rolls up
limos in its wake. We joyride
through the faded neighborhood. Dwarfed
houses hold their breath against the past.
My mother laughs in spite of herself
giddy with emotion’s flush.
We squeeze hands against the pain
brave sailors rigging the mast.

At the gravesite, a bouquet of shovels
stand like saplings in the frosted fill.
Spun sugar glitters our stockings
as we seal him under, high heels
punctuating snow like cleats on summer lawns.
We do the light work
while the gravediggers take five, shovels poised
blowing into their awkward anonymous hands.