It's only customary

Even if I no longer jump out of bed like it's Christmas morning,
Or that the novelty of hand-made pineapple tarts has finally sapped.
There are no mandarins to be found here now,
And six in the house seems nebbish compared to thirty.
The three-day feast remains a highlight-
Us three huddled in the kitchen
Stirring, shredding, tasting, bantering.

Last year I wandered amongst the burning sandalwood
Anchoring my wishes into urns.

Last night I sat sedate, inarticulate, beat.
But happy. Yes.

Health. Pink - of heart and soul.
Reverie. Gold - in laughter.
Clover. Green - a new year, in ease.

To you all.

Posted by e at February 01, 2003 03:42 PM