Every November 12
I remember,
thankful that they found
each other
and eventually made me.
If he didn't die
they would have hit
54 years on
November 12.
This coming January 6th
my Pop would have been
80.
Between these dates
came Christmas
the best time of the year,
a time my mom said
my father was relaxed,
different,
maybe happy.
They seemed happiest
at Christmastime.
It was always
the best time of the year,
many years
it was the only good
string of days
I knew.
So, every year
I start playing
Christmas music
November 12
and I end
January 6,
thankful
for the precious gift
of memory,
which becomes more
fragile with each
holiday.
This is so tender: a reminder to appreciate the moments and people in our lives that mean the most.
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