She unrolls the bundled tablecloth
Sweeps it flat with her dainty hands
We are having thanksgiving for two
It numbs the pain
Which is ever present
Decades of bad luck
Skin wrinkled and sore
Scars and broken limbs
I put the potatoes in the oven
Alice lays the plates
It will be just like a feast
In a storybook
She squeals with delight
I bluff with myself
Should I take the wine or not
There is nothing better than tea
She says
As if she can read my mind
I would like to remember today
So maybe I will stay sober
It just helps ease the suffering
Or maybe it makes it worse
It is hard to tell these days
It is like feeling perpetually sick
The potatoes fill the room
With an earthy scent
Our tummies grumble
We sit and wait expectantly for
Our thanksgiving for two.
Sometimes finding one other person who can help ease the suffering of life is the best blessing we can hope for.
ReplyDeleteI think her advice is usually good!
ReplyDeleteSuch a tragic poem! I totally feel for the protagonist (or whatever it's called in poetry).
ReplyDeleteThanksgiving potatoes an earthy repast. Nice one Jae
ReplyDeleteMuch💛love
Simple comforts and nothing fancy. A meal and a companion is all one really needs. And forego the pain of the wine. I'm with Alice, and would have the tea.
ReplyDeleteSometimes a meal with one other person can be the best feast.
ReplyDeleteI really like this. I like Alice.
ReplyDelete