You have braided yourself together,
like strands of woven
gold and silver and
more precious than rubies
in a puff of blue smoke
that produces allergies
and memories of surprise-filled ice cream cones.
Like a stack of Skip-Bo cards,
your pieces are so lovingly worn
from games both won and lost
that even shuffling stacks the deck,
leaving all the right cards
in your age-softened hands holding mine.
Tomorrow is another day,
one that, God willing,
will bring more sunshine and video games
and those golden fried chicken livers
and maybe, just maybe, that half of a banana split
you’re never able to finish
but today is just today
a day where you made it to the big boss
and found you just couldn’t beat him
and now you’re calling to the other room
as grandkids watch from the darkened living room’s makeshift beds
and your younger version tries to find the right buttons.
And you jump with every jump
and feel the fall that never ends
and wonder why the controller has been handed over
when your body knows the moves,
More hands make light work,
and hands saved from peeling potatoes for years of family feasts
have diligently prepared to repay the favor.
It is true that dawn comes in the morning,
but love comes most abundantly
in the night.
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