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Deboning the Bird is an Act of Art
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
The Weekly Avocet
Winter Backyard
Winter Backyard
The Bull snake, in the hole beneath
the junipers's feet, thinks of the lady who
gestured to him on a spring day,
to go down the slope before her;
he moved aside, startled, to let her go
down the slope; she insisted he go first;
oh, such a civility of her;
would it live even in the winter?
The rabbites empty burrow under
the porch, after the neighbor's dog
chased them away to the bog;
the Russian olive tree that spies the neighbor,
with a bough hanging over the fence;
now, they all watch the snowflakes in silence;
how harmonious they look in a glance.
© Byung A. Fallgren
The Weekly Avocet
At the Vein Specialist’s Office
At the Vein Specialist's Office
"Do you do those things?" the nurse asked.
"Do what?" I said.
"Nevermind," she said. "Just respect us."
Case of rude patients problem. I smiled. "Respecting
the respectable people is my name."
"Put on only undie, wear the gown, and lie on the table." her
voice was windy. Case of rude nurse. I sighed for the missing Please.
But quickly dismissed it; I was more concerned of the dreadful
pain I was about to face.
I recalled the receptionist's caution: "Wear a thick diaper. the pain
will shock you." So I did as instructed.
The pain. The thick diaper. Goosebumps shooting out on
my varicose-veined leg. I took a deep breath. After removing
the problemetic vein, I will be free of pain.
A young doctor in his white gown came in. And stood close
to my table and stared at me in the gown and the senior diaper,
the poor leg waiting for surgery.
"Oh, sooo cute," he said. "I want to hug and writhe on the bed.
She's just like my mom." His eyes lingered some more.
I removed the facial mask, and told him, "I know I am incredible
shrunken old lady. Please start and get it over with the surgery."
"Oh, sure," he said. "I was thinking how the vein should be
removed; cut at the low end, and then the upper thigh one.
Before that, this and that should be done."
I shuddered.
What seemed hours later, the surgery was over.
I was genuinly thankful for his ardent effort.
"Thanks, doc. The pain is less thatn I feared."
"Good to hear it," he said. And quickly left the room.
Quicker than I wanted him to be.
©Byung A. Fallgren
Weekly Avocet
AI Bird in the Morning
AI Bird in the Morning
Like an old lady's hair,
the sky is gray,
even the birds are hiding.
When the insomniac writhes
in the bed with winter gloom,
a sudden bird sings in the room,
lifting the mood.
It sings again.
No bird, but a broken alarm,
chrirp, chirp. such a preety voice,
as if to say, Happy Thanksgiving!
© Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 