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Christmas Stocking

My sister sent a gift to the
baby shower - planned for weeks,
it was a total surprise to my
daughter-in-law and my son,
visiting us to introduce their son.
There had been no shower
in Australia when their child
was born, her family lived
too far to gather so this catches her
too quickly, too much happiness
to be held and so it spills down
her cheeks.
She finds a note tucked in
the stocking's toe, explaining
that bits were from our mother's
favorite robe, another from
one of our father's ties.
We both weep for beginnings,
endings, unexpected treasures
clipped and sewn like snippets
of DNA pieced together to make
a new and perfect boy.
I sit in a corner at the party,
where 40 of us have come together
to eat, to catch up, to chase the
mix of cousins who scramble
over and under, in their own world
of private games while their parents
remember when they were the
scramblers - time passes too fast.
I think of my mother six months dead,
Lelong, who died one day after Thanksgiving,
that we have two more babies on the way.
My son holds a guitar,
my oldest daughter finds a flute,
a nephew, one of our many David's,
plucks away on his ukulele.
Others sing, my youngest takes pictures,
capturing the faces digitally while the energy
slips into hearts and minds to imprint
in black and white and flashes
of bright and living color that will be
remembered at parties still to come.

8 Dec 14

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