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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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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