Covered mirrors

Judaism, Summer, 1995 by Mark Neider

After my father's death

I sat shiva.

Mirrors covered, we received

friends and relatives in the evening

and I sat on a wooden box. They

brought food and conversation

to sustain us, no laughter.

Rooted in tradition, they

all pictured me in a pit of ashes,

my clothes rent....

Alone, during the next day

I saw him

spit-polishing shoes,

an exacting ritual like

combing his full straw moustache

- little things which

I desperately wanted to freeze

in the amber of my brain.

That night, as if reborn, we

were overwhelmed by visitors

laden with hot dishes,

cold cuts, fruit and joy.

Only the somber presence

of elder uncles and aunts

dampened the false festive air.

Out of guilt, I joined

my relatives in eating mere

plain cake and drinking

black coffee....

When our two girls,

five and seven, entered

the dining room, their

heads and faces covered

with silk scarves, I did not laugh

with the others as

Jan said, giggling:

Papa and Mama, we

covered our faces ... so

you won't see you

in our eyes.

Humbly, I heard

His message.

Mark Neider -- author of two books of poetry, Hello, Goodbye and Talking Leaves -- is a former teacher of creative writing.