I Am All the Daughters of My Father’s House

I

Philip Roth’s father awoke on morning

shuffled into the bathroom to shave

and found that half his face had fallen

The other half stayed put

After that he died slowly and for a long time

My own didn’t go like that

He just turned off my brother told me on the phone

I was working in neonatal that day

scrubbed and ready to examine the two-pound baby

of a teenage junkie

I remember removing the surgical mask to talk into the receiver

My green scrubsuit looked absurd

the whole enterprise seemed suddenly futile and ludicrous

Later starving for the real news of death

I insisted on touring the morgue

He was on a slab all white

What did I expect

An asthma attack got him

That’s how I’ll go some ten degree morning

green plastic ventilator stuck between my lips

I shall die as my fathers die and sleep as they sleep

I will follow you’re example perhaps at last please you

II

I left my father’s house at seventeen.

I am all the daughters of my father’s house

Some kids’ fathers are chair-throwers beer-drinking bullies

But they’ll teach you to drive to skate to bat a ball

You were kind but distant

Marries at forty by then too settled and prosperous

for the rough ride of real fatherhood

My filthy mouth and drug-taking enraged you

You were 60 to my 19

The entire culture had just exploded

and nobody knew what to try and save

III

My father gave up Harvard Law to work in the family business

They raised us in Connecticut so we wouldn’t have New York accents

All the relatives in Hungary and Russia were exterminated

His mother was never the same after her first baby died

My father was a hawker as was his father

His father George nee Geza was the only grandparent I never met

Maybe that’s why the whole enterprise feels unreal

this mythological man the father of my father

stripped of his rightful history by an immigration clerk

The loupe screwed in his eye he searched for cracks and flaws

After dinner among melon rinds and 

cookie crumbs he’d push back the tablecloth 

fanning out the glossy blue packets half-carats baguettes chips

pear-shapes square-cuts blue-whites carbon-spotted clean

IV

On either side of my father

await two spoken-for spaces

plus four empties

Now he’d alone there but someday 

He’ll lie between his wife and her mother

in the crossfire eternally bearing a recitative

of supermarket sales and long-distance rates 

the same litany that drove him out of the room and

behind the classifieds during his life

V

Jackie Robinson lived down the street 

I taught the Sulzberger child to swim

My father golfed with Benny Goodman

We had every advantage

VI

I think the last 10 years would surprise you

I’ve come down calmed down even staled down

Would you give my children more of yourself than you have me

Either answer is wrong

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