Deboning the Bird is an Act of Art

Festive days used to be a pure, playful season
of the family gathering, despite my work,
deboning the bird at the end, which is exclusively mine, which
I didn't complain. Only recently, with age, did I begin
to see the moodiness of my arthritic 
fingers and foot, which prompted me to find
a helping hand, if not, relinquish the duty altogether.

But who would fit for the candidate? 
the males are clumsy, the daughter-in-law 
is a vegetarian, so she avoids meat like
poison. I would like my daughter, but
she lives far away and is seldom around. When 
I was in dilemma, he senses it and nods to me.
I nod back in relief; why haven't I thought of that;
he is actually good in the kitchen. 

Together, we begin to separate the bones
from the meat, like we have been the artists 
of our marriage for decades,
on rainy or sunny days. We smile
at each other, and the work is getting closer
toward completion; with the little zip-lock
bags containing meat; he stores them in the freezer;
so, the dilemma is freed as the bird, until next season.

© Byung A. Fallgren