Poem: Obscure Melancholy

I often think to a Christmas long ago
Sitting at the adult table with a runner of gold
Two glasses in and reclined in my chair
Listening to voices that soon wouldn’t be there
The deep hold of etherness seizing me
That some Christmas will be the last Christmas
We all gather round the table to raise our glasses
The heartspur in the moment almost raised me to tears
Though I would save those tears for a year hence
Fully embraced by kenopsia in an empty dining room
With grandmother dead the family had lost its thread
Splitting at the seams until Christmas was threadbare
A sad aphasia that blood relations couldn’t overcome
I still try to find the lisolia in those old wine glasses
Setting the table with them for one time each year
Trying to recapture those holidays long passed

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A response to Linda’s writing prompt over at dVerse to use words from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.

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