An Everyday Christmas Hope
the old man carried the tray of food,
his spritliness and white tennis sneakers
belying his age by cardigan, hearing aid and grey hair.
he found a table and after orientating the tray
he glanced for the woman who’s food was at the other end.
then seemingly as a first instinct, naturally,
he unwrapped the paper napkin
wrapped tightly around the plastic cutlery
and placed them, precisely, intentfully
at the other end of the tray.
at that moment, I secretly hoped
that the subtle things from previous generations
that speak of love
wouldn’t be lost in the cacophony
of a food hall on christmas eve
