For Ruby



12 christmases ago
i recollect a voice that
melt'd icy telephone wires
that bent to intonations
of your laugh. . . and oh
what a laugh it was. . .
it was a laugh that
lov'd to recall the days
of my childhood, and your
midlife youth . . . days
when you swore that i
always ate too many sweets
with crust that were hand-crimp'd
in the most holy manner. . .your kitchen
was as important as church. . .
and you kept on baking egg custard
and pound cake that would just
saturate your mouth with golden greed,
and yam pies and bread pudding
chock full of just a hint of rum
and a vineyard full of grapes convert'd
by your gospel into sacrificial raisins,
and the nilla wafers that i used to
eat out of the box before you had enough
to go around the edges of your angelic
fluffy banana pudding. . .
yes indeed ma'am,
you were everybody's honey mama
granddaddy's sugar, and i,
. . .i was your most anxious grandbaby bee

11 christmases ago
it was your 64th wedding
celebration, but one of you
separat'd themselves from the
matrimonial silver cord and
flew away. . . damn cancer. . .
but it was all good because now
there are candy cane in his hands
as he soft shoes in Heaven, playing
old Alabama tunes on a golden mouth harp
and we talk'd about how his presence
was brighter than the snowflakes falling
in the moonlight, landing on asphalt glass

10 christmases ago
most everybody was scatter'd
and the closest scent of their being
was by the now-dry'd up saliva that
was a human seal of approval when
they lick'd moist tongue-tips across
envelopes of many colors that carried
"Season's Best" or "God Bless Your Family"
and the late ones would come saying
"Happy New Year". . . and you'd love it
when even in my 20s and 30s i'd diligently
search for the scotch-brand tape that stuck
better then than it does now that it, like everything
else now manufactur'd in China,
or Sri Lanka. . .but that's okay. . .
everybody needs a little christmas in their life
'cause even if it's working for 2 bucks a day; i'm sure
they must be thankful for all the american shoppes
who stock containers full of plastic holiday cheer
but at least your christmases were real

and even thru the decade that has vanish'd
as quickly as those who once believ'd in 
department store santas, those christmases
for you are no more. . . for now you fight
to remember the present. . .the past is a blur,
the future is uninsur'd. . .and every day you
wonder why God let you remain in a world
that you forgot exists. . .the past and the present
have collided. . .and the future is a cruel joke
and regardless of the number of times
you do not recall the seconds that pass your eyes,
at least when my breath meets yours,
we both know the scent of our love stays strong,
and christmas will be merry for all time

  

© 2006, cynth’ya lewis reed

all rights reserv’d