Tableau
New Year’s Eve, 2020
Emerging snow-blurred out
of the woods, the doe at dusk
fulfills our unspoken wish,
though still limping, moving
ever closer to stare at the two
of us having dinner lit by a new
ceiling light, the globe’s hue
dialed to a soft sepia, the gift
of a handyman friend
who’d asked if we might
prefer degrees of brightness
after four decades of on/off.
With a centerpiece of lilies,
the table is a simple choice
of fish and rice, bread
and wine, glasses raised
to the pending year,
the doe, for now, still there.
Roger Pfingston has poems in recent issues of Sheila-Na-Gig, Dash, Hamilton Stone Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and Valparaiso Poetry Review. His chapbook, What’s Given, is available from Kattywompus Press.