Olga Ties Poem by The Poet SPIEL

olga's hands look like a complex knot tied
with half-inch rope by a conflicted boy scout
she's got cataracts pestering her but somehow finds
her way to ben franklin's to choose new decals
for her fancy needlework

and if she's still kicking this december 24th
you can bet we'll receive another rush package
marked fragile and open now
addressed to paul (her secret favorite son)
and including my name

might not mean much to most couples who've
shared their lives three years past two decades
but neither his parents nor mine ever celebrated
the good fortune of our union like they did
for our siblings

her cinnamon rolls are always soft and gooey
upon arrival, she's told us for years the rolls
are especially for me so maybe that's the reason
she writes my name on the label
or maybe now at ninety-five

all those traditional family recipes of fresh cookies
stuffed in the box and for sure one more dozen
newly embroidered dishtowels
(which we'll stash away as keepsakes
on top of the previous twenty-two dozen)
mean she's been celebrating us all along