AROUND AND AROUND
My mother died on Thanksgiving Day,
my father had his own November departure.
A close friend exited in mid-December,
soon after the birthday of my now deceased sister.
Let’s just say this is not the side of the game board
I look forward to. Starting with Halloween I roll for doubles
to hurry me past all those costly stops,
maybe a Chance card to get me to free parking,
better yet a railroad station where I can climb aboard,
chug safely past all those avenues of grief.
Christmas Eve is where I want to disembark
with packages under my arms, a roast tied with string,
a jug of eggnog to pour for my grandsons
as they set up their favorite game at the kitchen table
in the warmth of the busy-ness all around—
dogs underfoot, supper cooking, Santa coming—
I’m okay being the top hat, the scotty or even the iron.
Hell, I made it through another year. I’m ready to play again.
*
Brooke Herter James is a Vermont poet. Her poems have appeared in ONE ART, Rattle, Orbis and other online and in print journals. She is the author of several poetry chapbooks and the winner of the 2024 Fish Poetry Prize.
