december 6
evening, biting cold wind.

tonight, grief is the canned soup section
of the grocery store.
she is happy to be
out of the cold, happy
for good lighting and even footing, but when
she notices a can of progresso
minestrone on the shelf
she trips on an unexpected patch of loss,
her eyes filling with the quick
prick of tears even as she smiles,
seeing, as she does
in her heart,
her father, in his nineties,
a widower for several years, navigating
the grocery aisle with
his slightly uneven gait,
his purposefulness,
his underlying self-sufficiency
and equanimity as he
deliberates his soup choice.

he’s now gone, four years gone.
who, she wonders, now buys
the canned minestrone
at the bethel foodliner?
whose daughters now wait
for their father’s nightly
email message, with its enumeration
of the day’s tasks and dinner details?
this daughter, the one who’s just
stumbled, resumes walking,
steps into the kitchen of her mind,
heats minestrone on the stove,
spoons it into her mouth, feels
the proprietary blend
of love, loss, laughter
and gratitude fill her belly
and nourish her, feels its
warmth radiate outward
in all directions, feels
her father lean in
to smell the sun in her hair.

—dotty seiter

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Notes about poem and art:
• “december 6” is a free-verse poem from the heart. I continue to read and study Kooser’s Wiinter Morning Walks daily. I’m eager to read more of his collections. So much to learn; so exciting to anticipate the learning!
• I started The Friend Who Knits with a scrap of paper sporting an existing chaos layer, whitewashed it with gesso, added print and tissue paper collage, and scribbled some asemic writing before I lost track of taking process photos!