opening boxes of the forgotten

the teal/blackblue sheen of the chicken
strutting loose in the herb garden as i pluck
basil for the tomato salad and thyme/oregano
for the chimichurri

emory holding two halves of some tiny potatoes
stacked on each other like hamburger buns
with the green shine of chimichurri oozing out
it’s all spirit i say
to mica under the half-lit string
of xmas lights
about how i talk to my dead

falling asleep on kitchen couch under tiger towel
that i use as a blanket
to the double-tick of loud clock plus
the timer i set for the oven-roasting potatoes
like christmas just as amy said
opening boxes of the forgotten
in which i find
the pieces of paper with grandma’s handwriting on them

the muffled scary moving sounds leaking through
the closed door of stan’s room where
cynthia, dottie and ty
partake in the second annual halloween
scary-movie-watching tradition
dim flickering of the candle
i light on my hastily-arranged
dia de los muertos altar


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