Skip to main content

Holiday Tables

Ours is a song of holiday tables.
Clattering chatter of our dining room,
Wedding china, and shared fables.
This is the history of the baby boom.

Clattering chatter of our dining room
“Remember?” “No, not him, he’s dead.”
“Oh, yeah, too bad. Cancer, I assume.”
Auntie Vera remembered a good book she’d read.

Remembered? Better remembered than be dead.
Uncle Jack’s scotch needs more ice.
He has to drive.  His face is looking red.
John offers his best Republican advice.

Uncle Jack’s scotch needs more ice.
Good buddy Bain helps clear the dishes.
Pat’s telling a story. We’ve all heard it (at least twice).
Jesus! Is it Easter or is it Christmas?

Good buddy Bain helps clear the dishes
Oh God! Who can eat cake? We’re too full.
Around here, it’s like the loaves and the fishes.
Cathy knitted that scarf, real New Zealand wool.

No way. Can’t do it. Can’t eat, too full.
“Yes, Sinatra was great but Elvis was better.”
“But      "My real name is Mister Earl”, in the lull.  
Mom knows her doo-wop, to the letter.

We share love like we pass potatoes.
Our country. Our shoulders. Our bone, blood and gristle.
This is the song of holiday tables. 

Comments

  1. vodkamomFebruary 14, 2010 at 4:55 AM

    I ADORE poems. or odes.

    Reading them as WELL as writing them. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. bFebruary 15, 2010 at 9:23 AM

    oh, this is very good!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Haven FairfieldFebruary 15, 2010 at 5:06 PM

    Thank you VM and Brittany. I appreciate the feedback.

    ReplyDelete
  4. SandyCarlsonFebruary 15, 2010 at 6:13 PM

    "I've been at that table," I thought as I read this. And I thought of Joyce's "The Dead" and Thomas's "A Child's Christmas in Wales" for the love of the insider language of family. All those pieces are part of the puzzle called family.

    I suspect there is a boat of very thick gravy at that table.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Tumblewords:February 15, 2010 at 8:46 PM

    What wonderful familial imagery!

    ReplyDelete
  6. shraddhaFebruary 16, 2010 at 9:33 PM

    wonderfully written!!
    a master piece!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Almost Invisible

No outstanding warrants on me I need to commit a crime Because no one knows me Somebody has always done worse Dad never missed knowing I could have done better Five friends at his funeral Never heard of me.  I was the smoke in the censer Shook over his casket Every morning shower, I make plans To change the course of history Every evening home,  I’m shattered Seeking the glue of vodka I can’t sow peace in my garden Without killing seedlings And mutating every myth of life Somewhere between skin and muscle Is the malignant cancer of a lie Somewhere between eye and sole Is the expanse of hope. 
Post a Comment
Read more

Introvert

It's the shadow of this thought into which I've fallen. This well of plots and characters left unwritten. Thank you for the nudge but I don't remember meeting you Oh! Yes, we made love so sorry it's the shadow of this thought through which a vision of you must swim. Now I remember the taste of your skin. Please take your place among the cast as I step away and fall And fall And fall away. I forgot to pay this bill? Sorry. It's this shadow of this thought into which I've fallen. Chasing a naked girl Correcting an injustice to make it right. Sinned? Me? No, just walking and thinking in a world of gray or into a world of citrus and thinking and thinking away. Maybe we met when I knew your name and you mattered in that moment but my heart beats in the shadow of my skull making you suspicious of me. I know and I know which way the world turns toward the bright and the loud, leaving the rest to live in shadows. Doubly darkened by the sha...
3 comments
Read more

Beach Scene

Play with my hair. Pull the world in as close as the last drops of Long Island Sound that slip from your swimsuit down across the back of your thigh. Play with my hair under freckles of laughter, syllables and chirps, that christen us like parades of soap bubbles floating from the abstract crowd. Play with my hair before we play in the surf where we’ll shock parents. We’ll be inappropriate, the way we keep touching. We’ll blast “Youth!” in spite of our age. Play with my hair Our whispers sequester The crowd and claim this blanket As the Nation of Us Our consensus of two Inviolate, immutable and perfect.
1 comment
Read more