Dad of Steel

This morning as I fill and flip an
omelet, spread probiotics over the
dogs' breakfasts, measure chicken for
my husband's lunch, I half watch a
public television travel show host tour
the country ruled by a government that
years ago took a hit out on my dad.

That is one place I'll never go, I think.
Until he ends with a celebration of
Buddha's birthday and a chance meeting
with the American ambassador and his
dog out for a stroll and breakfast supplied
by the myriad of street vendors.

My father's slight against that country's
leaders was recognizing a trade
imbalance; they were dumping illegal
steel into the American marketplace.
Hired by our government to spy,
trained and protected by an agent
of the CIA, my father instead
succumbed to an aggressive cancer.

Within a few months of its discovery,
he was gone. Once in conversation with
my mother he apparently hinted at the origin
of his illness--wondering if it was natural
or planted, while also recognizing it may
have simply been the multitude of chemicals
his professional life was built around.

In our current age of political madness with
a commander in chief who, during a debate
with the other party's candidate, bragged
about using illegal foreign steel to construct
some of his buildings, I now understand
how money drives maniacal power.

And I wonder if my father's death was
a convenient coincidence for the foreign
powers, or a plotted timeline that cut him
down before his scheduled expert
testimony before congress.

Christmas without the ha$$le

For Christmas this year,
Our family has decided to
Exchange handmade gifts.

Spices neatly wrapped,
A cake freshly baked,
A poem, a picture, a whittled spoon.

It doesn't matter the form,
Only that we are together
Making memories and sharing love.

Soup

Soup has always
for me been a starter
to a meal,
not the meal itself.

Older now,
and a wee bit wiser,
I eat soup
as a complete meal.

This morning it is breakfast,
ham and artichoke hearts in
thinned Thanksgiving gravy,
the perfect starter to my day.

Discounting Time

Today I could unfurl my sails
and surf the net, lonely,
in and out of waves of storefronts
boasting 10 percent off this, 25 percent
off that, buy one/get one, or land a
free phone with a two-year contract.

Today only.

If only today I could open our front door
to the rush of friends and relatives who
blew in Thanksgiving afternoon; our
King Arthur table stretched to an oval
with five leaves that held all the
boisterous rollicking of the pop-up
party as we laughed over stories,
debated the politics of slavery, and
read aloud notes of gratitude penned
in green on beige paper hand cutouts.

Then only.

If stores could then only offer us 25 percent
more time together, instead of tempting us
with stuff to buy and give, that's a cyber
deal I could jump on and ride; instead of
these cyber Monday blues, today we might
again cook together, swap recipes, hike the
local trails with our canine friends, and play
the silly games we had planned to, but for
which time ran out before the night was done.

If only.