Christmas Eves were spent at my grandmother’s little house
on Lawndale, and then, later, an A-frame on 16th.
The dining table was set with festive tablecloth, and
even though she still had her old electric keyboard,
she never turned it on to play.
Anyway, the grown-ups – my parents, aunts and uncles –
never stopped talking long enough for there to be a lull
in the laughing and joking.
Flossie, my mom’s sister, gone longer than it seems possible,
was the cut-up.
The only thing she retained
after the undiagnosed Alzheimer’s that later carved her memories
was her smile and a startled laugh like
she was just realizing the joke.
With each year, fewer of the family came and
when they did, they arrived later and left earlier.
Because we wouldn’t see the extended families
on Christmas morning, we all opened each other’s gifts
that night. I want to say it was Flossie who gave me a tribute album
artists performing songs of Yoko One
and John Lennon songs. It was the year Lennon was shot, and I do remember
opening it that night, and my cousin
being impressed
that Roseanne Cash, who sang
“Walking on Thin Ice,”
was on the record.
My heart aches still at the thought that my aunt
knew what Lennon meant to me,
and that she knew I would love that album.
The next morning,
I opened Spaniard in the Works and In His Own Write.
My mom has always given me the best books.
I’m still trying to figure out why I like this poem. Your words paint vivid pictures of this holiday celebration that connects at a few points with my own experiences — but not quite — even to the point of how the celebration changed over time. And the way you throw in figurative language in unexpected places, in unexpected ways: ” the undiagnosed Alzheimer’s that later carved her memories”
And I really feel as if I know Flossie and her laughter and her perfect gift.
The last two lines didn’t hit me as strongly. I keep looking for something deep in the titles of the books but maybe I’m just trying to make them as meaningful to me as the rest of your poem.
As I said, I have no idea why I like it. But I do.
Thank you, shirl. I can’t say much about my intent because I may have been on auto-pilot at that particular hour. The last two seem a lead-in to what I didn’t continue, and I’m ambivalent about them, too. But I appreciate your reading of the poems lines to you.
Thank you, shirl. I can’t say much about my intent because I may have been on auto-pilot at that particular hour. The last two seem a lead-in to what I didn’t continue, and I’m ambivalent about them, too. But I appreciate your reading of the poems lines to you.