Brings out
Orphans in the storm.
All those stray dog-and-cat-type folks
Without a place to go.

Searching memories for words
To make an acceptable presence,
They pretend
At a festive table.

The hostess, herself,
Tossed in and out of marriages,
Hopes a three hundred dollar gobbler
Save the day.

“Of course it won’t”
She tells the only guest caring enough to know
It is a fruitless effort.
But with a single tear falling, as she carves,
Her heart sings out,
“I can dream of love
Shawling my shoulders,
Making me whole.
Can’t I “

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
November, 2017