It’s okay tonight.
I’ll concede to another store bought roll,
Pick off the fuzzy green spots,
And won’t ask many questions-
Grandma’s agenda on everyone
Is usually already prepared.
Our Thanksgiving meal for most
Is now a phone call and a card
But she still cooks on- just in case
One of us might stop on by.
It isn’t like when we were kids.
It meant sneaking crusty fresh rolls
Dipping them in the bubbling sauce
Before she got back,
Her warm dishtowel whipped us
For the tomato drool on our mute smiles
Gave us away.
Homemade, huge spicy meatballs, and fiery hot sausage
One for each of us was carefully counted out.
Juicy turkey in spinach soup with freshly made croutons
Soft chewy egg colored croutons-
And cold cuts, with thick rugged rolls
We’d almost have to help each other pull them out of our mouths.
What a dance it was!
A fast football game in the mini front lawn
Nap then dessert and it would soon be over.
But tonight she was too quiet.
Her sunflower lampshade shone on
The yellowed plastic tablecloth
As her waxen hands grabbed
The scratched silver serving spoon
In soft tarantulan speed.
I said, “Have you heard from cousin Joey, Grandma?”
In a blink,
She said it in Italian,
First to the empty spot on her plate
And then again in my eyes in English-
“If you love me, you’ll come to my house Tony.”
“If you love me, you’ll come to my house.”
Copyright2010 A.J. DiAngelis