The Holidays
Blue, neon-ringed
electrical Chanukkah candles,
on a vintage credenza,
stand balanced and poised,
among chants of
anciet Hebrew prayers.
Reminding us of evils past
of miracles transcendental.
Your LAX baggage sits enclosed.
The trunk of my car rattles,
as we make our way in silence
through a blurry, foggy, dark,
cotton evening.
Your sinewy silhouette
passes through a red door,
perched atop the jagged back
of Los Angeles.
How I wished I could sit
like the wooden bowl of
corkscrew pasta, mingled
wtih peppered chicken,
undisturbed, silent.
How I wished you to be
a glass of pinot, fleeting,
settling, transluscently
penertrating.
We look for coconut filling
in a box of See's candy.
Ellington turn table
spins and filters
magic numbers through
the afternoon air.
Tuesday evening,
unravels like the delicate
thread of a pashmina shawl
into a morning wednesday
You leave uninformed,
like the silent wake
of an east-bound front.
And not a word from you...