I can’t sleep or won’t.
Things are ok I guess.
We have oranges,
and the kitchen is glowing
from the advent candelabra
I have placed on the counter.
Tonight I pinned a pony tail with two
small pink roses on each side,
forgetting my age,
which I thought was 12.
Not much has changed.
I’m still waiting.
We always lit candles in kitchens
in case somebody came home,
wanting us, our table-settings,
candles, cloves, etc,
Who might he be?
He would remove his heavy boots in the vestibule.
We would start spinning like tops.
Mama would select the best glasses–
Gleaming lingon-blood red in the candle-light,
he would watch what she poured;
Maybe he would stay a while.