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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. I ADORE poems. or odes.

    Reading them as WELL as writing them. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you VM and Brittany. I appreciate the feedback.

    ReplyDelete
  3. "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
  4. wonderfully written!!
    a master piece!

    ReplyDelete

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