——-Dedicated to the 116 people laid to rest in the seemingly forgotten Cementerio Israelita, in El Cementerio de San Fernando, Seville, Spain.
It pained me
to know the end
I wanted to ghost you
to let you slip away as if there were nothing more to say
as if your diminution
from once being the center of my world
to no longer being of this world
your disappearance
would leave no visible trace
no fingerprints, marks, lines
not even a dent.
I didn’t understand:
daughters are always
dented, marked
father/mother-molded
limited, boundaried, languaged, inculcated
nurtured and pruned back
until we resemble and defy
the who we are meant to be
invisible when our supposed-to-be selves are on display
embodiments of Rubin’s vase
alive in both dimensions
the one you shape us to be
and the one that lives in the empty space
outside your contours
sharing a common boundary
that made you first the figure
me the ground
then years and years vacillating between the two
until now
the ultimate and final reversal
I am the figure
and you
the ground.
I stood at the foot of graves
halfway around the world
wondering when it will be
that I come to stand again at yours.
A memory came
a liminal moment when I could hold
a sense of me and you
at the same time.
In the photo of that night,
you wore a suit
me a then-fashionable dress
I felt grown up and young
you felt like my Dad and not my Dad
neither of us knew how to dance
so we swayed to the music
daughter, lover, wife
father, lover, teacher, protector
we were all things
contours and shapes
and it was good.
I turned up the music
invited each to dance
twirled and two-stepped among the tombs
the air vibrated once more with the music of their names
–Abraham, Isaac and Jacobo
–Sara, Luna, Reina, Raquel
–Esther and Alegría
–Julian and Luna
I danced with each
not letting a single one stay in the shadow
or remain against the stone wall.
When all had had their turn
it was time for our dance.
We swayed, rocked side to side
twirled and pivoted
as if you had learned to lead
and I, finally, to follow.
Amidst the souls I awakened from slumber
that unseasonably warm winter day
in the Cementerio de San Fernando
I recited the mourner’s prayer
to ease them back to rest
to accompany you on the 4000-mile journey home.
I closed the gate behind me
walked through the long streets of the main cemetery
a middle-aged woman
with her father’s curly hair
his willingness to break the rules
more your daughter than I’ve been in a long time.
Bonnie,
This one, too, is amazing. The word play around ghosting a ghost really dragged me into the poem.
This one and the one after it (saturn rise) I wll probably re-read often.
Thank you.
Thank you!