Universal Constant

The stirring of the wooden spoons-
the chopping of the onions, and the smell
of paprika added to the potato salad-
The heads that bob in all the same ways,
eyes and noses in slight permutations,
and the mouths murmuring of
someone gone,
someone beloved, and
the sorrow turns to arguing, and
the argument withers beneath the sun
until joy sprouts again in grandma’s garden.

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