NaPM April 27, 2018

[Todd]

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Holidays with my Grandmother

I
She stands like a proud roman
candle at the table's head,
wiglet frosted with Aqua net, hair
on fire, believing the smell 
to be a burnt casserole.

II
Grandmother says that leaving
the door unlocked is why I’m late
to the party. She asks if I’m being raped.

III
Turkey is carved while the dog pees
on the carpet. The hose is dragged
into the kitchen.

IV
Frankincense, myrrh, and wrapped
gifts from the RV are mountains
on the pool table.

V
The dog is growling
at my cousin, who snuck
away to drink
grandmother’s codeine.

VI
Trees brush the ceiling.
Tinsel forms crop circles
around the gold
leaf conquistadors

VII
Brown meat and leftovers
are all that will be served
for a brown holiday.

VIII
Grandmother removes the tags
on the presents. My mother sniffs a sweater
and hands it to her sister.

IX
That man of your mothers will always
sit at the children’s table.

X
Children, grandchildren, and dogs
share the same name. Grandmother
raises her voice.

XI
Grandmother presses receipts
in my mother’s hand before
she opens the gift.

XII
The youngest drink
and the oldest perch
like blackbirds.

XIII
The hearth is cold,
and the rooms are empty.
Faces exist  now only 
in ever-expanding circles.