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Poem

One day remains 
Before this most peculiar year ebbs into distant memories
Wings are buttered awaiting burnt orange flames
Crisp sticks of celery trimmed to impeccable perfection
Must not forget—
A small, very small, bowl of the consummate black-eyed fruit bearing luck
An obligatory remembrance to dear old Mom
Crystal glasses fluting the bar await the caress of cheap champagne
To be shared by young and old alike

The last day of the last month
A day I have come to long
Children and children of my children will come to visit
Silly games will be played
Small explosions of fuse fed paper will fill the night
Dancing sparklers held in little hands
As a mother’s smile hides behind her raised smartphone
Concealing chicken greasy lips and smudges of creamy blue cheese

I love this eve of new hopes
The last one stolen by the coddled Covid
I think I will add a ham to the table
Smothered in brown sugar wearing pineapple rings
When the phone does…
“Sorry Pops, can’t make it this year”
"Maybe the next," I proffer with hope

Another hour, another call
“Sorry Daddy, not feeling to well”
“Hope you get better soon, baby girl”

One more
The youngest
College bound and new friends calling his name
“Sorry Dad…”

One hour remains, minutes tick tick ticking away
I sit beneath the shaded yellow lamp, all others turned low
Lingering aromas of untouched buffalo wings
And the silence of uncorked bottles
Calling to mind on this treasured eve
In the home I built—
Only one remains

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