Leaning Into Yizkor

When you go to the same place
Year after year
And the place becomes your
Common place and in that place
Year after year
What also becomes common
Are all those common faces. 

Some you like, some you don’t
Some you know, some you don’t
Some make you happy, 
And others, not so.
But year after year,
Those common faces
Share in those common places.

Some you see often, others are
Rare; and sometimes you remember
That the rare ones aren’t there 
The ones you see often
You note when they are absent
You expect them back
Unless you know another fact.

On occasion, when you go
To the same place
Year after year
And you recall the ones gone
Missing, and you know they 
Won’t be back, you realize
You’ve collected another ghost. 

When you go to the same place
Year after year,
You end up with a list of ghosts. 
Some you want, some you don’t
And you recall by a sound, or a sight,
Or a scent, or a note sung just 
That way

And a seat occupied by one
Is occupied in your mind’s eye
By many
Some you loved, and some you didn’t
And suddenly even the ones
You didn’t like are dear

And your kaddish for your most 
Beloved
Embraces
All those who came to
The same place as you
Year after year.   

Yizkor: The Ashkenazi memorial service, held on Yom Kippur and the pilgrimage holidays.