Mother of the Feast

She was there

Up and running

And the steam at the corner kitchen stove

Hinted at the battle’s enormity.

Thawing, bread breaking

And mixing, spicing

Stuffing, basting

And laying gently in that cavern

Of delightful smells and sizzle.

Wrapping disaster collected.

Hostess’ table set with sparkles

And inviting charm.

Kids nowhere to be seen

New toys taking the pre-eminence.

Help-mate interjecting cautiously

Midst her dancing ministrations.

A pause, a tenting of the hands

To pursed lips at table’s end.

Then off to the changing room.

Doorbell soon a-ringing.

Red and green napkins


Folded crowns for the King.


Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario


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