Dismantling the House

We take the Alaskan, the African, the Balinese masks.
The ornate screws that hold up the screen.
We take door handles. Lace parasols tear.

We take the peaceful wooden beads,
the peaceful wooden fish. We take
the front hall bathroom papered with trees.

We take our last time at the Seven Seas diner, limp beans
pork chops
that make me keen and gnaw.

We take the last time at the bank where every teller
knows my grandfather's name. Everyone looks to see
if I've gained weight.

We take the shopper's parking lot,
the girl I watched buy
black velvet jodhpurs for her Bat Mitzvah.

We take Broadway plays. Chock full o' Nuts
before opera. We take the proper scarf,
the stiff wool hat that scratched.

From the boys' bathroom, we take the cracked blue toilet seat cover.
The way the door had to be slammed three times before it would latch.

We take screaming.
We take everything Jewish.

We call from LaGuardia, Kennedy, Penn Center,
take the hands off the train station clock, jam them into cement crying,
this is when I arrive. Come and get me.

We take the unnamed photos. From the Atlantic city boardwalk,
our relatives stare back.

The white courtesan lies on her side in a wooden base carved just for her.
We grab her hips, pass her hand to hand like a hammer.

We take nine Buddha's off the lighted mantel
We take the light off the back mirror,
Even the clay dog face comes away.

Drash Vol. V

I've had 9 acceptances this year (whoo hoo!). This is the second one in print.