The Red Door

(א) kaddish

flurry of fat feathery snowflakes
falling onto half-frozen soil
cushioned in the womb of the earth
dad slumbers in his pine box bed
until the world to come

we are but dust and ashes v’imru amen

mourners clad in black gather round
the open mouth of dad’s resting place
rabbi spins a sermon to soothe
sharp edges left behind by loss
fist after fist fills with cool damp earth
black dirt splays across pale wood
in the ground under their feet
the dead whisper secrets from beyond

we are but dust and ashes v’imru amen

a mother and three children
two sons and a daughter
missing a dad
pieces of him spread all over them
oldest son’s brow and jaw
younger son’s nose and ears
daughter’s sterling silver star of david
dull golden gleam of the widow’s wedding ring
one day they will all dwell here
in their own wooden houses

we are but dust and ashes v’imru amen

they sit shiva in mom and dad’s house
it’s just mom’s house now
in the kitchen a potluck banquet of comfort food
greetings and condolences
from aunts uncles cousins friends
trickle into the daughter’s ears
she sees empty sockets where eyes should be
from their mouths worms and moths spill out
arms that hug are gleaming white bones of skeletons
lips that smile are macabre grins of bleached skulls

we are but dust and ashes v’imru amen