The Final Prayer All of us standing together In a living room too small White tattered folding chairs lined up by the picture window The comfy brown couch inviting any of us to sit down A single round alarm clock ticking silently on the fireplace mantle The silence ends The rabbi chants Someone to my left, a grandson, about nine years old, cries It is infective, others weep Many arms reach to comfort Eyes stare at the carpet that is full of muddy patches But no one notices because the eyes are seeing the past When he Was alive and laughing