trying to write tonite –
a sermon for tomorrow,
and rehearsing a story to tell –
interrupted at every turn as only a loved one can do,
“Not NOW, i say,”
like my mother used to say – though probably not as often as i remember her saying it –
“I’m busy right now.”
like my father, as well –
like i have told my own child –
so often before –
crucnhk crunchch krunkch
“what are you doing?”
I ask without looking, and no reply came forth –
“here have your new toy,” i toss it at, not to, the impatient poodle –
mistakenly thinking that he has found a playmate,
he bounces up-
but i go back to work again.
butt in the air, new toy in his mouth, prancing dancing about
Crunch crunch squeal crunch
Crunch? i look up
Crunch – what IS that?
and then i see the little bits of shattered peace –
pieces of my past under the tree,
all that remains of the last thing my father made for me.
Tears spring from my eyes – the poodle confused –
Wails from my mouth are next,
as i sit on the floor clutching the remains of a small doll house ladder,
made of chopsticks and matchsticks by a man dying of cancer, so very long ago.
I remember so many mornings of newly opened newly chewed new toys –
by new new terriers,
and old old beagles
under other trees –
and of arms that hugged and held,
and of kisses that kissed away the tears
with promises of new toys and puppy training or elder compassion.
Oh Dear Sweet Poodle!
Thank you for reminding me what this holiday is about –
taught to me so long ago by those arms that held and loved.
Tis the season of redemptions, large and small –
and forgiveness for one and all.
tis the season of Love –