Athens & Jerusalem: the last time we talked
for Ben Hollander
the day you died
after talking to Steve
& Jack & Duncan &
Norma & Levi &
who knows who else
like some slice of life
sit-com caricature
I decided to get a
piece of cheesecake
at the Greek diner
across the street—
the last time I had
one we were on
the phone for a long
time cracking up
over something even
though you were dying—
I mean, I was too, we
all are—but you were
heading there at a
highly accelerated
pace: still, you savored
each day with loved
ones & friends, with
rage & courage, love
& wonder, even the
careerist poet you
wrote up who, after a
squabble & you excusing
yourself for typos
because you had brain
cancer, wrote that “it
would be better to stop
communicating”—&
the mysterious man at the
Times who commissioned
the piece, a brief & tenuous
link to a world I, for one
had been dis-invited from
long ago—you kept bugging
me, asking: “should I tell him
I’m dying? Maybe he’ll give
me more stuff to review?” But
this is about the cheesecake—
you had to get off the phone, or
I did, I can’t remember now, &
I went in &, as usual, watched
the guy remove the cheesecake
from the display cooler, like he
was handling a Torah scroll or
something, & carefully carry it
to the back where the knife,
soaking in water, was stationed.
& then he sliced it, as if
performing a circumcision or
some other precise ritual,
before packing the slice up
& walking the cake back to its
Ark. I immediately called you
back because I knew how much
you would have dug the scene,
even vicariously, but
there was no answer.