Buttered toast sucks up the
beef blood on the cutting board
to happy noises, anticipating
the almost guilty pleasure
of savoring the blooded bread.
The children ready the tree
for Christmas with strings
of lights and beads.
A lifetime of ornaments
and a seashell star find
their places as they do each year.
The wits are quick with adult expertise and
fly about the room on decades of wings
as we laugh and revel in home.
Bantering with my own blood warms my bread.