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At least the birds
still come to visit, did
not abandon normal
migratory routes.
At least the butterflies
came to greet us after all,
bright wings declaring
glimmers of hope
just as in every
year past.
At least the squirrels
yet forage seeds beneath
fallen leaf litter, there,
just outside
a closed back door.
A Thanksgiving
of sorts. Meager feast.
Small turkey + two who
plan on no
grand gathering.
No shelves well stocked
with festive fare & carefully
created preparations.
No long-loved faces
seated around an extended table
fully-laden with warm
sides of love. No
grandchildren-induced chaos
exuberantly strewn across our
all too quiet floors.
This season's feast
becomes a viral fast,
virtual distance complete.
Silent winter hibernation
awaits lengthy dreams
of a safer spring.
© by Elizabeth Perdomo.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Elizabeth Perdomo has lived and written in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas for the past 18 years, moving to the region from the Rio Grande Valley of New Mexico. Born in Kansas and raised both there and in Colorado, she also lived in the southeastern U.S. for a number of years. Elizabeth has been writing poetry since her teen years, on topics that include local place and culture, cooking, gardening, ecology and nature, traditions, spirituality, and more. The author of One Turn of Seasons, featuring poetry about people and places in East Tennessee, her work is also featured in the anthology, Kansas Time + Place and in various publications, including Heartland, Writers of the Rio Grande, Chachalaca Review, and Interstice.
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