--- E L I   G O L D B L A T T

That piano behind us, with menorah
& teapot set on top, hems us in as we
finish our meal. I wear a cream linen 
peasant-style shirt on my wedding day.
You wear the narrow outfit suitable
for a bubbe at the wedding of her dead
son's son. The food is decidedly kosher,
but later you'll throw it up in the bushes

just discreetly enough that only my mother's
brother will see you retching. At this moment
your amused frown's simply a part of the scene
like the table cloth laid on the rented table.
Left hand in my lap, the right halfway
to my face, perhaps I'm turning to go
greet other guests. That marriage did not
outlive you. Thin stripes in my shirt match

the lines on your dress. We each stare off
at different points just outside the frame 
of this photo; both of us wear dark-rimmed
unfashionable glasses, tho yours are bifocals
like mine now. I've set my knife
on the empty plate's edge.