Raspberry Gingerale Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I was so happy the afteroon I discovered
there was raspberry gingerale.
or maybe it was cranberry

that I ate Thanksgiving food
every day for an entire year
or remnants of it.

and it almost seemed
Grandmother could return
with the crystal relish dish

in time to join me in a can
of yams, or cranberry sauce
with the can indentations still intact

like cranberry tree rings if
there were such a thing.
when she was here barely

cooking herself- well, that's not
what our family was known for-
we baked poetry. and dusted

the piano. and we sang a lot
and not only at Christmas
I try to explain to the ladies

on break in the box store I work in.
but they cannot hide their queenly disdain
that I don't bring homemade pimento cheese

sandwiches to work
they gingerly let me sample,
wrapped in wax paper

and know nothing about
the little garnishes
that make a picnic, a picnic.

mary angela douglas 1 november 2015