Christmas Dinner
By Nancy Little
There is sustenance at table
beyond the food.
There is song and memory
and braiding.
The strands are grandmothers
and lakes and moonlight,
poetry, baked spaghetti,
Preacher Gordon, for all he was
and wasn’t, just as we are.
There is the spiral of DNA,
and the surprising tensile strength
of friendship.
Together they are
strong enough to weave a way
into the next generation.
I don’t know what heaven is
but good enough for me would be this scene:
our grown children
eating from family china and silver
at Christmas,
discussing George A., Troop 4,
and trips abroad
the hope of their good future,
that they might know each other
and be known,
in the sacrament of wine and curry.