when the light changes
and it drops from the sky at a different time
it’s sometime between push the clocks back and Turkey day
I see the sky through the window, and I remember
well, I feel
I feel that last holiday my mother greeted me at the door
eyes smiling with her little totter
telling me how beautiful I looked
I couldn’t stay, it was the in-law’s turn
but I told her I would come back
after
young family in tow
and we did
and Nana with her day pass
asleep at the table
I ate Mom’s quiche and asked for the recipe
she told me, “Meat Farms.”
the table chuckled
except Nana, she was peeing
at the table
Mom had to take care
it was a mess
Mom’s face worn
wrinkles of heartbreak and resentment with this that she had been anointed
the tapestry worn in Dad’s face, a mere copy of the original that was Mom’s to wear
the boys swirled until they bored and roared
time to go home
hugs all around
“Take some quiche.
Next stop, Christmas,” Mom said.
“What can I buy the boys?” the table called after us.
“Yes, yes,” I sighed, thinking of the labors ahead
but Christmas never came that year
Nana was upset she didn’t receive her day pass
ringing the phone, demanding loudly for Jan
Jan wasn’t there
Carried off her bedroom floor
taken from her home that
never Christmas Eve
to be home nevermore
just a pass
ceremoniously
in the casket, we selected
the man to place a rose upon the door,
it was part of the package
these memories politely keep their distance in the light cast by
spring, summer, even early fall
but come November
through the window
in this light
that stays too long
till Imbolc
when the new light stakes it’s return
until then
proof of an ingestion
I can’t expel
like syrup on my fingers
chocolate on my face
they say
I am with you
until the light changes
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