Boris Dralyuk

THE DYBBUK

a parable of a sinful Jew
who must reside within a pious Jew
after death awaiting redemption
Deep in my recrudescent past
I knew so many schmucks, that might
be dybbuks coming home to rest,
lighting a candle in the night,
and burrowing into my chest.

I cough a little, with the pain
an overburdened ass might feel—
too many souls, like sacks of grain
strapped to my back. I wear the seal
of secure passage, cosmic drain.

And you and I, my dybbuk, will
begin our journey with a bite
(two hungry ventricles to fill).
And may I ask, are you contrite,
or merely grateful for the meal?—

Each day I lead you to the trough,
and I am weighted with your heap
of furtive guilt, till I shake off
this mortal coil and swiftly leap
into some other poor dummkopf.

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