Zachary Greenwald

Lester, 1981, chicken broth
cooling beside the sink and my sisterís
junior high project recording. Zeyde,
please, the blossoms,
the burls of usÖ

I found him, my motherís father, filed
with many small capsules of the Dictaphone.
LESTER 1981, his cassette predating meó
the fact of our clan is that itís before,
and I am only just now to take the yad;
it is the carbon dating of lost Yiddish, borscht,
of abeyant eyes.

Within a Sony ark the interview
is rolling, its atoms stabilizing
like wisdom along the tape: his voice,
a nasal gulp taking the end
from every few words;
the sandy silence through which, at full volume,
her pen can be heard catching up.

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Zachary Greenwald

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From previous issues:

Ron Mohring

Hasidism and Homoeroticism
Jay Michaelson

When I Met Humility, I Saw Letters
Abraham Mezrich