The Lebanese Visitation

It would appear that I was alone 

on this Christmas Eve 

as I sat at the metal table

wrapping grape leaf rolls

in 2020. 

But my dead Lebanese relatives 

floated through the front door

as if called from afar 

when I opened the spice-stained 

family cookbook.

They stood across the room 

to respect my rules 

about no dead relatives in my space.

I kept rolling the grape leaves, 

but to acknowledge them, 

I said aloud, 

“Hello, great-great-uncle Gabriel.”

They looked at each other in surprise.

Then I said, “Hello great-uncle Joe.”

Delighted, they all laughed 

and looked at each other wide-eyed.

Then, Siti stepped forward. 

Siti is an Arabic word for Grandmother. 

I said “Hello, Siti.” 

And the dialogue began.

I could hear her in my mind saying,

“Light the candle.”

So I did. 

Then she said, 

“Turn on some Christmas music”

So i did. 

She looked at my dog 

who was ignoring the smell of raw beef

that I squeezed into rice grains in my hands.

She said, “He is so good.”

He is. 

I announced, “I am going to break tradition 

And not line the pan with grape leaves. 

Maybe you guys had thin pans? 

It’s a waste of leaves.”

Siti said that I was stubborn 

just like my mother, 

and I proudly said, “Yep,” 

and they all laughed. 

A song came on my playlist

by an African man 

whose message was 

to feed the poor during the holidays.

I told Siti that he was a lot like her

in that she had owned a restaurant,

fed the poor, 

and welcomed black customers

in a time of segregation.

She nodded proudly in agreement. 

At the end of the song, 

the African man began preaching 

about Jesus Christ. 

Siti had been a devout Orthodox Christian, 

so, I asked her, “Is Jesus different than you thought?” 

She laughed and showed me a scene

where Jesus was standing right beside her.

She gave him a side-armed hug like pals. 

He was not lit up in light 

but looked human in his brown garments. 

She pointed to the Christmas Star,

like the one we just saw a few nights ago, 

with the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter

on the Winter Solstice.

She pointed to her chest 

to show me that the Christmas Star shines there, 

within us.

Not out there somewhere to be found,

Not a man to put on a pedestal to worship,

But Christ is the shining light within us. 

As my star pulsed and glowed in my chest

they continued to watch me with love,

as I rolled the grape leaves

on this peaceful 2020 Christmas Eve, 

supposedly alone.