Christmas Dinner

There is lots of movement and cigarette smoking

at regular intervals when the adults all convene and decide to

"step outside" and the screen door slams shutting out the winter

while a multicolored christmas tree sits and stares silently at me

and I wonder what nicotine is like.

And the smell of smoke on a denim jacket hung on the back of a chair

still reminds me of my dad as if it were him walking through the

front doors of the hardware store I'm working at, and not some

random stranger.

And they're laughing in the kitchen about something I wish I understood

as I watch his face light up and control the narrative,

his brother and sisters all competing to make him laugh,

his mother in the living room with me just sitting

and we all said thank you for the meal.

Coffee is eventually made which triggers yet another sojourn to the driveway

I couldn't even stand the smell of it then,

and I follow them outside, not particularly unwelcomed, just to stand in the cold and

listen to them talking

about work, and kids, and making jokes

with not an ounce of tension anywhere

and I see snow blowing through under the yellow glow of a street light

and it was just as cold then as it is in my heart tonight

I hear a dull bell ring out behind my eyes

which makes a lingering, painfully nostalgic drone

that does not fade but gets louder, and it makes everything gray

and lifeless before me

except for that moment walking back into the house and it's so warm

and a Christmas Story is on the TV again for the 5th time today

as one of them offers me a plate full of cookies

with a look which holds me with a casual and undying affection

that had been the tether keeping me held to the ground

for many years until I purposefully cut it

and even though it is always still there,

there is a part of me that is constantly looking for something else to ground me

as if that wasn't enough.