Charles Harper Webb
Hanoch, Pallu, Hezron, Carmi,
Jemuel, Ohad, Zohar, Shuni:
one Genesis mention's all you got.
Ziphion, Muppin, Arodi: lost
in a list even the most devout skip over
like small towns on the road to L.A.
How tall were you, Shillim?
What was your favorite color, Ard?
Did you love your wife, Iob?
Not even her name survives.
Adam, Eve, Abel, Cain—
these are the stars crowds surge to see.
Each hour thousands of Josephs,
Jacobs, Benjamins are born.
How many Oholibamahs? How many
Mizzahs draw first breath today?
Gatam, Kenaz, Reuel? Sidemen
in the band. Waiters who bring
the Perignon and disappear.
Yet they loved dawn's garnet light
as much as Moses did. They drank
wine with as much delight.
I thought my life would line me up
with Samuel, Isaac, Joshua.
Instead I stand with Basemath, Hoglah,
Ammihud. Theirs are the names
I honor; theirs, the deaths I feel,
their children's tears loud as any
on the corpse of Abraham, their smiles
as missed, the earth as desolate
without them: Pebbles on a hill.
Crumbs carried off by ants.
Jeush. Dishan. Nahath. Shammah.
Charles Harper Webb, Shadow Ball: New and Selected Poems, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009.