An Old Bird Contemplates November

The cold is coming and with it
occasion for breaking out
the carving knife and silver spoons.

What remains of my family descends
and they pluck memories and insults
like feathers from an unwilling bird.

Grandmother passed years ago and
left her platter to the sister
who never cared much for her

Potato salad or peculiar smell;
a mixture of aged lady, tea rose
and musty newspapers.

I will never know the secret
ingredient in her creamed corn
and she never taught me

How to wring a hen's neck
but when the cold returns
and it will return

The one who loved her potato salad
and found her scent intriguing
will be the one who remembers.

for Estelle Howard, my grandmother