The table is set,
The food is prepared,
The guests begin to arrive.
The house fills with noise and laughter,
Another family celebration begins.
Everyone is here, but. . .
You're not here, Grandma,
with the platter of deviled eggs, paprika sprinkled on top.
You're not here, Grandpa,
with your pipe, the warm, spicy scent of tobacco in the air.
You're not here, Sister,
with your creamy fruit salad, thirty minutes late.
You're not here, Dad,
with your questionable jokes and easy laugh.
You're not here, but. . .
You are.
I love the way you wrote this--special things about special people. Their memories are always with you.
ReplyDeleteI'm guessing the signature dishes are still a part of your celebration, as the memories definitely are. A loving remembrance for a special day; thank you for sharing with us!
ReplyDeleteYou select such powerful details to convey the personalities of those family members who are no longer with you. So much is revealed by the careful sprinkling of paprika, the questionable jokes. A moving poem about who's missing and yet still present.
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