to see us eat when
at last
she had a little money
in her purse.
turkey,
ham,
lasagna. an assortment
of pies and cakes.
home made rolls
and bread.
her instamatic
camera
clicking away.
she always ate last.
standing in
the kitchen with sweat
on her brow.
the music on her
little radio,
her parakeet in the cage
whistling. oh,
to have
one more holiday
like that.
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