Before the Eulogy

I am full of rebuttals
when the rabbi arrives, primed
for argumentation.

How can there be a holy word,
rituals whispered,
when you were made to live deep

within yourself? A machine
stammered on your behalf,
& you were essentially halved.

What remains is a shape
of absence & obstinance. I want
the rabbi to feel opposition

to a loving God, equivalent or more
to my love for you. But that’s wrong, too.
It took more than nine hundred days

to realize, I spoke not only from grief
but restrained rage.
There’s a politics of death

which is a little like
Darwinism, or waterfowl flying
in formation, navigating

distant points. Each pilgrimage swerves
a flight path toward a terminus. The rabbi
mines forgiveness, but mis–

understands. I cannot forgive
your life before decompressing
the blame for your death.

The process of death
was a winnowing,
refining a multifaceted core

to a diminished persona. Give me
all the disparate layers
composing your humanity. I forget death

is a form of accelerated erosion
& you were broken, storm–
torn strata. When the rabbi

exits, I’m drenched
in wonder, holding mercy close.
Mourners deserve

validation, a holy word. You were
a great man,
a perfect father.

*

Matthew Isaac Sobin’s (he/him) first book was the science fiction novella, The Last Machine in the Solar System. Recent poems have appeared in ONE ART, Stanchion, and ballast. His poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net and Best Spiritual Literature. His chapbook Blue Bodies was published by Ghost City Press in their 2025 Summer Series. He received an MFA from California College of the Arts. When he’s not teaching high school, you may find him selling books at Books on B in Hayward, California. He is on Twitter @WriterMattIsaac, Instagram @matthewisaacsobin, and Bluesky @matthewisaacsobin.bsky.social. His Linktree is linktr.ee/matthewisaacsobin.