Dinner With the Dead

A poem, an epic devotion to the lost.

The nightly revel
Begins again
The spread is set, all empty plates
And superfluous cutlery
Candles reflected
In the sheen of bone
In glass eyes
Or empty sockets
I take my place again, to break bread
Though I alone sup
At this feast with the dead

There sits the tragic figure
Of the first pet I remember
Max, the dachshund I sank my teeth into
As recompense for biting me
Loyal beyond the grave
Awaiting scraps
That will never fall from this table
Each guest a reticent member
Of a phantom banquet

I saw Thomas, whose death I learned of
In the pages of the local Pennysaver
A publication of renown
He was my friend, a coworker
Always quick with a quip
Brimming with folly at twenty and seven
His gaunt, yellowed face
A product of a life spent
Chasing a dragon
He could never slay
His jaw worked, side to side
Like a typewriter
Eager for another taste
He died in a dispute
When he said the wrong thing to a dealer
That he accused of ripping him off
The hole in his temple
A silent testament
To the wisdom of restraint
And forbearance
I still hear his voice
Calling out a mocking “Pancake!”
Because he was there the day
The moniker was earned

My great grandmother shuffled by
Refusing to sit
Energetic, in her frailty
A live wire in her nineties and into the centenary
Always in motion, always cooking
Making biscuits from scratch
With gnarled knucklebones
That swelled from papier-mache hands
Kneading dough
And pressing kisses and pinching cheeks
Her whiskered chin poking my young face
Never too tired to smile
Nor too proud to scoop bacon grease by hand
From the skillet, to add to the recipe
She passed, alone and forgotten
When we lived too far to be there
And that haunts me
More than she does

The charred corpse of my namesake
Stared at me through ruined eyes
Where once he was a black and white facsimile of me
Or I, him, my grandfather
A rictus that might be called pleased
Proffered in greeting
What scraps of skin still clung to bone
Seared to a crisp
By the flames that consumed him
When his B-29
Crashed on some Pacific atoll
Returning from a training flight
Practicing a run over Korea
He had been a bright young man
From a small town
Who was rewarded for his intelligence
By promotion, and installation
In the position of navigator
He was trapped there
Next to the charts
That curled as they burned
Leaving my uncle, an infant
And my father, still unborn
In his mother’s belly

She, my grandmother, fell to pieces
A young widow
Alone to confront the world
With two babies in tow
Grieving a husband her sons would only know
From a single, wrinkled photo
She became a caricature of sloth
Surrounded by the panoply
Of the relentless collector
A hoard of dubious treasure
Assembled by a fractured mind
In the throes of dementia
Discarded by a family
That couldn’t bear to watch
Their mother wither like a leaf
In real time
Not that they ever cared much
This same gaggle of vultures
Spared no time
Jockeying for the antiques
Of elders they never bothered to visit
While those elders stood scant feet away
In the kitchen, preparing hospitality
For those who didn’t deserve it

Some in this assembly of raptors now sit at the table, too
They dine on benevolence, and forgiveness

My mother’s mother stared straight ahead
Diminished to silence
Vacancy inhabiting the orbs
Once vivid with the brightness of a curious intellect
And shrewd observer
The smartest person I ever knew
A towering acumen, on a vast scale
A mind sharp as betrayal
Even in her advanced years
Now reduced to a mute
By a fall from a step stool
A foot tall
That rendered her a vegetable
And took her life six months later
I miss her most, a mind of intimidating agility
And magnanimity
At least the breach was sealed
With my mother
Who eloped at sixteen
Pregnant with my sister
And anathema
In a strict Catholic household
Bound together by communal work
Mutual support and loyalty
In the absence of a worthless father
Who shirked his responsibilities
All eight of them
With their hungry mouths
And need for new clothes
By disappearing one day
Bound for the belated onset
Of adolescence

The table is full of nebulous faces
Forgotten with age or distance
While others resolve from the ether
With terrifying clarity
My friend Phil, found face down in his shower
By his son and grandson
His bright morning presence
And eternal readiness with a joke
Leaving an absence in humanity
Uncle Paul C., my great grandmother’s brother
Born not so long
After the end of the Civil War
A smiling manifestation of the past
Who laughed with delight at seeing four-year-old me
And cackled as he threatened spankings
An archaic pillar
In my corduroy memories
Of childhood
Or my mom’s aunt Hidesumi
Struck by a drunk driver
While navigating a road in Kaneohe
She was in the crosswalk
But rules are never guardrails
Against vehicular violence
There’s the telltale laugh of my great Uncle Jesse
Like a gargantuan goose honking
Only to be surpassed when he blew his nose
My most enduring memory of him
Being a clumsy attempt by my toddler self
To put him down
With the devastating insult
Of being called a “flusher toilet”
I can still hear his mirth
Echoing from his casket

My sister sat at the head of the table
A weathered wreck
All hollow planks and rotted sails
A shadow behind, that was echoed in her eyes
Dark circles sunk in a wan face
Beneath a bare crown
Repeated bouts of cancer having robbed her
Of any pretense at beauty
Or vanity
A shrunken forgery
Of a former sibling
Here, she was the remains
Of her battle: fatigue
Endurance
Deflation
Decay
Resignation
And a plea in her eyes that said
Watch over them, Mikey
Don’t let me go like this
Knowing the connection will be severed
She left, and so did they
Disappeared, refusing to be found

I embraced each guest in turn
And promised better fare
When we feasted in our rendezvous
On the morrow

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