The last Christmas
By Shelly Merriam
Dec. 25, 2009
The square table was set for four
A homespun family cloth and folded napkins
Cobalt blue heirloom dinnerware and goblets
It all came from another table in another time
The small tree, unpacked from its box
stood taller than its three-foot reach
Illuminated, the branches gently held glass balls,
velvet poinsettias and bows.
A “boombox” played cassette tapes
of Christmas music past
With Santa’s help,
beneath the tree were wrapped gifts
From her, a sweater for him
always blue, to match his eyes
From him, silk pajamas for her
Gifts they would have chosen for each other
if they could have
There were large glittering cards
with sentimental scenes
and endearing words of love
for eternity…
They would have read and spoken to each other
if they could have
He with macular degeneration
and she, dementia
Under the tree, Christmas stockings
I had made decades ago
each with their image.
He with Brillo silver hair
a cigarette loose in his mouth
and a salesman’s tie
She with white-looped yarn hair
chocolate button eyes
and holding a large kitchen spoon
In her stocking was a fresh orange
a treasure in every stocking of her 91 years
And a dark chocolate bar
like her father would bring
from Dilbert’s Candy Store
in Atchison, Kansas
Christmas dinner was tupper-toted
prime rib, rare, seasoned to perfection
plated with crisp-skinned baked potatoes
with a buttery heart
His favorite
A salad of garden greens, orange disks
avocado slices, toasted slivered almonds
and orange vinaigrette
For dessert, dark chocolate mousse cake
and flutes of champagne
Her favorites
We sang
the old familiar grace
Told stories of Christmas past
and memories
flickered in the candlelight
The small room for four
at the nursing home
was becoming a precious Christmas memory
just when we thought it
impossible
(ambien)
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