It Was a Night of Psychedelic Canaries at Grandmother’s House

First Appeared in The Loop on Vashon Island

The baby screams in the house full
of leftover turkey & stuffing, fries and pies
potatoes mashed by another shrieker & his dad.
Sleep settles into all the warm beds but mine.

Awake as windows rattle 
I pen a poem. Stillness embraces
all the others downstairs. Our dogs mumble 
in sleep, paws tapping.

I imagine owls clutching furious 
dancing branches outside,
snuggling the tree trunks while  
I’m cozy in my bed, mute as a mouse.

The neon spirits of the departed
visit me as I remember full
houses of Thanksgivings long past, 
preserved in dusty attic photos.

I listen & wait for the rain to stop, 
hope the precipice perched over us 
holds steady under howling gusts.
I imagine hot coffee in the quiet morning.

I’m hankering for tomorrow’s aromas,
leftovers-for-breakfast with pie, 
stuffing & maybe an egg thrown in,
cracked and scrambled in the pan.

Tomorrow another drenched day,  
with games & cranberry nibbles, 
veggie loaf with pudding, still until 
the kids’ next crescendo of tears.

Laura Celise Lippman