Poem: After the Holiday

dead flowers 2

After the Holiday

And after the holiday,
when the carcass has been put away
and the pie pans are empty;
when the last guest has left,
and with them, the energy of the gathering,
and there is just you, and I and the remains
of the celebration.
It is then that I am most grateful,
your hand holding mine,
the intimacy of close, quiet conversation,
the warmth of nearness.
You.
Me.
Us.

About this poem.

I went to be with my family in Virginia this week. It was wonderful. I am back home with the woman I love. It was even wonderfuller.

Tom

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