“Obstacle Course” by Josh Feit

I inadvertently knocked over your coffee today, Mom,
and thought of the time 
40 years ago, you set the kitchen on fire.
 
In the weeks before a father’s death, 
these domestic proofs
are dreams out in the open.   

In the case of the kitchen fire, 
it was your dad who was dying. 

You were 50-years-old, chicken breasts sizzling
in oil. You’re still struggling 
to keep kosher.

Beguiling rabbinic eyes watching from the living room, 
smoke and flames dancing a hora up the wall.   
  
In the case of the coffee, I’m
54 years old, cramped in the corner, 
surrounded by filthy end-tables, 
magazines you’ve been subscribing to all my life, 
TV remotes, Kleenex, 

and my dad, 

eyes like a little boy learning multiplication tables. 

I’m trying 
to set up his nebulizer.

Mist dancing at his mouth.

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