“Christmas Eve Beers”
 
Open the first one and toast
a dead uncle,
then the second one
becomes a dead cousin,
while the third beer
is a warning
to slow down,
delivered in a voice
that isn’t my own.
 
And I start to wonder
if there’s such a thing
as a living memory,
only for the fourth drink’s
empty bottle
to remind me of a tombstone
above a fresh grave.
 
It’s the fifth beer
that makes the music louder
and quiets all the ponderings on death
giving birth to rebirth,
if we’re lucky,
or giving existence to nonexistence,
especially on those nights
when all the ghosts are gone
on a two-week vacation in December.