Through These Months

In October, we squared off

around cold hard tables

in a cold hard room

We wanted to remove our masks,

but we'd worn them for too long.

We wanted answers to be given out like candies:

sweet, satisfying, bite-sized,

but we left empty-handed.

In November, it took six of us

to wrestle the table into position.

Chairs were brought from all around the house,

and cats wound themselves around our legs.

We ate yams and turkey off red plates with old silver,

surrounded by colored glass, lacquered wood, 
books, and friends.

We took the time to be thankful for finding ourselves

by finding each other.

In December we linked arms

and wandered down cold dark streets

into warm bright rooms.

We put on our favorite hats and

passed gifts of glass and jelly,

candles and books

around the circle
and ate sweet things to ward off the bitterness.

          --Sappho

Dec December

This December I've decided to declare this decree: 

Instead of a decrease,

let us decuple our decadence!

I decry in a decible higher,

"Decriminalize being declassé!"

No longer will we be deceptively decent, our lives decolorized!

During this decade we may become decrepit, perhaps deceased.

We have already begun the decline that leads to decay.

Will we be remembered?

Or will we be decumbent,

leaving a decussate to mark the spot

that no one can decode, no one can decipher?

So,  I declare this:

Before we decamp.

let's decant the wine and deck ourselves with decorations.

Decorum be damned!

         --Sappho

December is the Coldest Month

December is the coldest month
breathing frost bite out of the frigid land
mixing snow and ice
sifting memories of Christmas past.
          --Zazu  (with a nod to T.S. Eliot)

Two Squirrels

I sat in the snow yesterday
and watched two squirrels frolic and play,
They were having so much fun,
And I--
I wished I had a gun.
          --Lucretia

The Thrill of a Good Book

I’m a slut on the prowl

for a good book,

heaving my bosom

when pulled into its spell,

winding my leg

around the bedpost

in Jezebel’s seductive pose.

I yearn to open

the mystical treasures

hidden within its

sweet mysteries;

they pull me in

when other duties call.

Ah…the temptation

I can’t resist.

            --Scheherazade

Not Yet

Death has not yet visited this house

but he knows where we live.

I've stood at the window,

anxiously peering out

into the darkness,

seeing nothing but the reflection of the room 

behind me.

But I know he's out there

somewhere.

And he knows we are in here.

He hears us cough.

He sees us stumble.

No, I haven't seen him,

but I've felt him

as he cruises by

slowly,

with his headlights off

and his window rolled down.

When I know he has gone,

I turn away from the window and

I hear myself laugh way too loud.

I touch my husband's back as I walk past his chair,

startling him.

I grin at my son, showing way too many teeth,

and he smiles back,

uncomfortable.

I pat the dog. 

Which one of us has caught his eye?

Which one of us will let him in?

          --Sappho