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.