Six months past the New Year’s
car crash, I heard him from beyond
the grave: “Honey, I’ll be with you
in time for Christmas.” And my love

was true. Elms blushed for autumn
when his appendix arrived,
pink as Labor Day sunburn.
How our baby laughed to see it!

Then his pumpkin-fat spleen,
just in time for Halloween.
Icy Thanksgiving roads
glazed in warm vodka

served up his steady legs.
The last chilly Chanukah night
his sweet Manischewitz toast
brought the rest of him home.

Our family will share
the Yuletide snug
in our dark pine abode
beneath December snows.